


toe the line (and play their game)

by tartymoriarty



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Discipline, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Spanking, Top!Brian, bottom!freddie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-06-21
Packaged: 2019-10-23 15:24:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 52,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17686058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tartymoriarty/pseuds/tartymoriarty
Summary: Brian thinks they need more discipline in the band.





	1. Freddie

**Author's Note:**

> Have I been thinking about this ever since I watched the scene in Miami's office where Freddie says he's happy to strip off his shirt and flagellate himself? Absolutely.

He thinks they've sorted it. There's still a bit of tension, granted - Brian keeps giving him a long evaluating look as though he's studying some familiar, predictable animal that's acting out of character, like he's waiting for Freddie to stop shying back, to snap and bite at his fingers again. There's a flatness to John's voice which suggests he has not forgotten the things that have been said, the barbs thrown out, and worse, that perhaps he does not quite believe that Freddie is wholly sorry for them. Roger alone seems done with it all, like he just wants to get back to business, back to _Queen_.

Still. Tension is to be expected. They ask him to leave the room but they've let him back in again, and Miami's eyes have stopped flicking from Freddie to the others as though they're on separate sides of a tennis court. They give him their terms and Freddie agrees to them readily. He does not bother to ignore the shame he feels at their given terms; they are not asking for much, have never been asking for much. He will do better this time.

"One more thing," Brian interrupts, before Miami can dig into the details of Live Aid. "I think we should - " He breaks off to choose his words carefully, and gives Freddie another one of those assessing looks. Freddie tries not to squirm under the intensity of it. "I think we should leave this conversation open-ended. I think we need to be able to come back to it and add more terms. If necessary."

Once upon a time Freddie would have pushed Brian for more details, questioned exactly what he meant before he agreed to anything. He doesn't, now. He trusts Brian, always has, and if Brian needs something else from Freddie in return for performing with him again, then Freddie will give it.

"Agreed," he says.

For the first time in too long, Brian offers Freddie a slight smile.

"Right," says Miami, sounding equal parts weary and fond. "About Live Aid..."

-

Freddie does not find out about the other terms Brian was thinking of on that day for quite a while. Live Aid comes and goes. They are brilliant, the best they've ever been. The screams and applause ring in Freddie's ears for days afterwards.

They dive straight into an album and it feels like a rediscovery. The music grows and develops between them as they bounce ideas off each other, try new things, play together. It feels like the early days again, the same kind of creative magic, but this time they have steadier heads.

There are still arguments, of course. They wouldn't be _Queen_ without them. One day when Freddie and Roger begin to bicker about the speed of the song they're working on, as they have been bickering for the past week, Brian throws his hands up in the air. "Enough," he snaps. "That's enough. I'm tired of listening to this and I'm sure John is too."

"True," John murmurs.

"We'll break for lunch now," Brian goes on, "and when we start back up again this afternoon we're going to forget this, alright? No more whining at each other."

Roger just rolls his eyes but Freddie can't resist a little huff. "Whining?" he mutters.

"Yes, Freddie, whining," Brian says sharply. He gives Freddie a look, then says suddenly, "Actually, Freddie, would you come with me to the shops?"

The innocuous little question sounds loaded, somehow. Freddie looks back at him, but Brian's face gives nothing away.

On their way back from the shops, swinging a carrier bag each, Brian finally says what's on his mind.

"Do you remember when we were in Miami's office before Live Aid, and I said that there might be other things I might ask of you?"

His tone is light, casual, but Freddie knows Brian. He can hear the seriousness underpinning his words, knows that Brian has been thinking of a way to word this, looking for a chance to bring it up, for some time.

"Yes," he says slowly. He feels suddenly very uncertain. He hadn't thought that Brian was still questioning his place in the band.

Brian hums, playing for time. They've nearly walked the length of a street before he speaks again.

"I've been thinking a lot about what went wrong last time. With _Queen_. The arguments, the falling out. It was the dynamics, I think. The structure of the band. Of our relationships with each other."

He pauses again. Just when Freddie thinks he can bear it no longer, Brian continues.

"I know that some of the arguments helped us, in the end. We fought with each other but we managed to bring out the best in a song. But that wasn't always the case, and sometimes the fighting got personal and did more harm than good." He side-eyes Freddie. "I think you'll agree with me?"

Freddie can feel Brian's gaze boring into him but he doesn't look back. He feels somewhat like a child being scolded and his belly twists uncomfortably. It wasn't just me, he wants to say, it's not all my fault. But he doesn't want to sound petulant, and Brian hasn't actually said that he was what went wrong last time. So Freddie keeps his mouth shut and just nods.

"So I've been considering ways we can stop that happening again. How we can have more of a structure."

Brian comes to a stop beside him. Freddie carries on for a couple of steps before he realises, and when he turns to face Brian, the taller man has an expression on his face that Freddie recognises well enough from years of seeing it on Brian's face. He has something to say but he is struggling to find the perfect way to say it, and Brian being Brian, nothing short of perfect will ever be good enough. Underneath his trepidation, Freddie feels a pang of fondness.

"Spit it out, darling, whatever it is," he says.

Brian stares for him for one long moment. Then, all in a rush: "I think we should talk about authority within the band. I think there should be a system in place so that if someone steps out of line, the others can... sort him out."

Freddie stares back at Brian. He's aware that silence is not his usual forte, but no witty response springs to mind.

"Discipline," says Brian. "I'm talking about discipline within the group."

"What kind of discipline?" Freddie says slowly.

Brian shrugs. "That's not my place to decide. It would be a group decision."

"Do the others know you want this?"

"We've spoken about it." Brian is watching him carefully. "When you were - "

"When I left."

Brian nods.

"When I left, you all had a good old chat about how things would have been better if you could have told me no, _bad_ Freddie, and punished me every time I went out with Paul, every time I came to the studio drunk?" He hadn't meant to say all this but it comes out in a rush anyway. There's something hot in the pit of his stomach; it takes him a moment to recognise it as humiliation. He feels small, thinking about them judging him and his actions; smaller still when he thinks about how right they were about him.

"No. We just spoke about needing more authority. And when you came back, we were glad to have you back, and I asked them what they thought about a disciplinary system within the band just as I'm asking you now."

"And what did they think about it?"

"They thought about it, and they each came back to me and said that they would be happy to go along with it."

"For the good of the band?" Freddie asks, a little snidely. Brian doesn't call him out on it; he just nods.

After a moment, Freddie walks on. He doesn't say anything. Brian catches up to him easily and walks alongside him for a while.

Eventually, Freddie says, "When you say that you want the band to have the right to discipline someone if they step out of line, you mean - "

"I don't just mean you, Freddie," Brian says gently. "I mean all of us. Me included. If someone - if anyone - is out of line, then as a group we will discuss it and act on it."

"You say that like Deaky is going to be out of line so much," Freddie mumbles.

Brian grins at him. "Oh, you never know."

Freddie glances up at Brian. He thinks of how he felt sitting in Miami's office, not knowing whether they were going to accept him back; he thinks of how prepared he was to agree to any of Brian's terms, whether or not he knew them, because he trusted him. He thinks of Roger and how he has never laughed with another person as much as he has laughed with him. He thinks of how John has always been there, steadfast and reliable, and funnier than anyone gives him credit for. He thinks about how much he values each and every one of them, how much _Queen_ means to him, and what he would do for it.

"Okay," says Freddie. "Okay."

-

For all Brian's assurances that their new system is not just about him, it's inevitably Freddie who falls afoul of it first.

He's in one of his moods, the kind that swing out of nowhere and make him want to push every button in sight just to see what it does. He's annoying Roger, he can tell, but Roger is refusing to rise to his bait, though his drums are taking the brunt of his irritation. He winds John up just to see if he can (hard to tell; John is the most unnaturally patient bastard he's ever encountered). He argues with Brian about the song, about the temperature in the studio, about the speed of Brian's guitar solo, about the lyrics they've already spent hours rehashing, and Brian finally snaps.

"Freddie, you might want to think about the agreement we all made and give it a rest," he says sharply.

"Give what a rest?" Freddie is too busy roaming around near Roger's drum kit to pay all that much attention. Restlessly, he taps his fingers on the nearest in a tuneless tune rhythm.

"You being a pain in the arse," Roger growls, whacking at Freddie's hand with a drumstick. "Don't touch my drums."

Freddie nurses his fingers and gives Roger a petulant look. "Aggressive."

"Annoying."

"Violent."

"Really, really annoying."

"Freddie," says Brian.

"Don't you think we should change the name of the song?" Freddie asks, to a chorus of groans.

"We've been over this!"

"I just think - "

"You think a lot of things and none of it is very helpful today," John puts in, side-stepping Freddie neatly as Freddie comes towards him with his eyes on the bass guitar. "Go away."

"Freddie," says Brian again.

"I don't even like the song," Freddie announces. Roger looks like he's regretting poking Freddie in the hand rather than the eye.

Brian goes for a different tact. "Roger, John," he says. "Would you do me a favour and step outside with me, so that we can discuss how to proceed from here?"

That gets Freddie's attention. He whips round and fixes Brian with a sharp look, but Brian is unrepentant. The three of them file out together, leaving Freddie staring after them.

He glances around at the empty studio. The restlessness he's been feeling since he woke this morning seems to have suddenly abated, as though the concept of consequences have cowed it right down into something small and manageable. He looks at the door, half-expecting the other three to burst back in, smug at having successfully spooked him.

But they don't return for a good five minutes and when they do, there's no laughter in their faces.

"We've decided what to do," says John. "In line with the new disciplinary system."

"You're going to lie over my lap," says Brian, "and I'm going to spank you. Ten times. That's what we decided."

Freddie stares at him. "You can't be - "

"Serious?" Roger cuts in. "Oh, we're very serious."

Freddie looks to John. John's face is impassive, but he doesn't look as grim as Roger, nor as determined as Brian. "Deaky - " he tries.

"No, Freddie," John says. "We decided. You agreed."

"Group decision," says Brian. "Now. Over my lap."

Freddie doesn't move. His heart is beating very fast all of a sudden and it makes him feel dithery, uncertain. "I - "

"Get over my lap now or you'll get more than ten."

The flush that has been steadily creeping up Freddie's face deepens. He hesitates for one long moment.

He agreed to this. He promised. Freddie does not break his promises.

He takes a single nervous step towards Brian and stops again. Brian doesn't say anything, but he holds out a hand, as though he recognises how enormous the task is that he is asking of Freddie and wants to help him overcome it.

Freddie's legs feel like lead but he forces himself to take another small step, which brings him within Brian's reach. Brian takes hold of his wrist and tugs him the rest of the way, then pulls him down. Freddie stumbles a little and Brian's other hand steadies him, closes on the small of his back as he guides Freddie down over his spread knees.

It's a good job that Freddie is considerably shorter than Brian; they just about manage to make it work. He squirms, one of Brian's bony knees digging into his stomach. Brian's hand is still settled on Freddie's back, but he soon moves it down to the waistband of his jeans. Freddie freezes. 

"Please, don't - "

Mercifully, Brian does stop. Out of his vision, Freddie hears Roger mutter, "You'd never manage to peel them off him anyway, Bri."

Pressed up so close, Freddie feels Brian's little huff of laughter. "You're probably right," he murmurs. His hand doesn't move from Freddie's ass, but he makes no move to pull at his jeans. "I won't this time, Freddie, but that might not always be the case in the future. Consider yourself warned."

Freddie isn't sure if he's expected to reply. He risks staying quiet. Nobody comments on it.

Brian doesn't move for a moment or two. Freddie is still squirming, still trying in vain to achieve anything resembling comfort. It's impossible, not when he's acutely aware of what he must look like, arse-up over his bandmate's lap. He wonders, for a hysterical moment, if Brian has mentioned any of this to Miami; if Miami has approved the novel little idea of spanking Freddie to keep him in line.

"Brian," Freddie whispers.

"Hush," Brian tells him, but not unkindly. Then in one swift movement, no theatrics, he brings his hand down hard on Freddie's ass.

The sting is startling through the denim. Freddie bites down on his lip hard, determined not to show them that it had hurt more than he expected.

Brian smacks him again, then again. The fourth slap makes Freddie rock forwards and he gives a little gasp without meaning to, his balance slipping. Brian puts his free hand on Freddie's back to steady him. It feels heavy, an anchor preventing Freddie from falling.

As Brian spanks him for the fifth time, through the haze of humiliation Freddie begins to think that he can survive this, he can get through it; all he has to do is lie still for five more slaps and then he'll be able to bounce off Brian's lap and hopefully, maybe, find a way to laugh this off. And never end up in the same position.

His plan is scuppered when Brian speaks again.

"Why are you here, Freddie?" he asks.

Freddie does not answer. Brian waits a moment, then slaps his ass. Hard.

Freddie can't hide his wince. "Ow," he mumbles petulantly into Brian's knee. He thinks he hears Roger muffle a snigger from somewhere above his head.

"Answer the question."

Freddie doesn't bother to hold back his groan. It's clear by now that Brian isn't going to let him out of this without an extra dose of embarrassment for his troubles.

"Because." He huffs out a breath and shifts his weight as best he can. Brian lets him. "Because I was being annoying."

Definitely a laugh from above. "Fuck you," Freddie adds, for good measure.

Brian's hand comes down again, in the same spot as the last one, and Freddie grits his teeth. "You don't speak to us like that when you're in this position," Brian says sharply. "Understood?"

Freddie wants to snark back but he curbs the instinct. He gives a small, jerky nod instead, his face burning. He presses it against the denim of Brian's jeans and wonders if he will ever be able to look any of them in the eye again.

"You were being annoying," Brian continues. "You were being disruptive, rude and childish. And that is why you are here now, over my lap, being treated like a child." He delivers the eighth smack on the curve of Freddie's ass, towards the top of his thigh, and Freddie can't hold back a hiss.

"If you behave like that again, you will find yourself in the same position."

The penultimate slap lands. Freddie wants to be able to get up and flee right away, and, simultaneously, to never have to get up at all; at least here, dangling over Brian's lap, nobody can see his red face.

Brian spanks him for the tenth and final time. He doesn't hang about; he moves his legs under Freddie, forcing him to sit up, and catches hold of his waist with both hands to keep him steady. Freddie looks anywhere but at him or the other two.

He's still sitting on Brian's lap, perched on one knee. Brian puts a finger under his chin until he has to look up. He's not sure what he's expecting, but it's certainly not the next words out of Brian's mouth.

"You're going to apologise to each of us," Brian tells him, and there's steel in his tone.

Freddie looks at him desperately, but there's no reprieve in his usually warm eyes. Freddie's head drops. He darts a quick, humiliated look in John and Roger's direction and mumbles, "Sorry, John. Sorry, Roger."

They don't tease him or ask for anything more, thank God. They just nod.

Freddie can't look at Brian; he delivers his last whispered, "Sorry, Brian," to Brian's feet.

"Hey," says Brian, and he leans forward suddenly and winds his arms around Freddie. Freddie finds himself scooped closer, brought up against Brian's chest. He gets a faceful of curls and he can feel Brian's heartbeat against his cheek. He's clinging to Brian before he's even consciously recognised what he's doing. He draws in a shaky breath and Brian smooths a hand down his back gently.

Brian seems to get it. "It's alright, Freddie," he murmurs. "I've got you. We've got you. It's alright."

Freddie stays there for a good long while, just holding onto Brian, waiting for his heartbeat to slow back down to something resembling normality. John grows restless after a while, but before he wanders off he pauses beside them and touches Freddie's shoulder just lightly. He doesn't speak, but the support is clear in the gesture, and Freddie reminds himself for the millionth time to be more appreciative of John and his kindness.

Roger elbows him before he too wanders off, but gently.

"We can have a go at finishing that new song of Deaky's when you're ready, if you'd like," he offers.

Freddie lifts his head and makes himself look at Roger, knowing he can't avoid it forever. He nods. Roger just nods back, offers him a brief smile, and goes.

From the other end of the studio, John begins to strum on his guitar softly. Freddie takes a moment to lean into the calm, reassuring presence of Brian's hand on his back, then takes a deep breath and slides off Brian's lap.

"Thanks," he whispers, just for Brian's ears. He kisses his cheek, because it seems like the right thing to do.

Brian's eyes are warm again. He catches Freddie's hand before he can go and gives it a quick squeeze, then lets go and follows Freddie back to the others.


	2. John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John takes a turn over Brian's knee...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Franny requested Deaky's turn in the comments of the last chapter, so here you go!

For while after that particular incident, it feels like a waiting game.

John thinks he was probably as surprised as Freddie himself was, when Brian took John and Roger aside and told them bluntly that they needed to decide what to do with him. Oh, he'd agreed to the idea of discipline within the group readily enough - had welcomed it, even, because it _does_ feel necessary, and it feels right for the future of the band. And it wasn't that he had thought Brian was bluffing, or anything like that. Brian does not bluff.

It was just that the reality of it was a bit startling. He hadn't ever expected to find himself in a position where he watched Brian face Freddie down and take matters into his own hands, literally. Seeing that unfold felt very different to agreeing to their new system in an abstract sense.

But it had happened. They'd taken their first steps; their system was in place. Brian had established himself as the decision-maker, which was a relief, in all honesty, and proved that he was perfectly willing to take action as well as just talk the talk.

As for Freddie... well. John has found new cause for respect in the way Freddie handled the situation. It can't have been easy to submit to that, but Freddie had, because he'd promised them. He'd been quiet for the rest of the day, subdued, but John had spotted Brian take him aside towards the end of the session. John has no idea what was said in their murmured conversation, but whatever it was, it worked; Freddie came into the studio the next morning with his usual enthusiasm and vigour, not a sulk in sight.

So that was that. Except for the part where John is fairly certain that he is not the only one waiting to see what happens next.

It's not like their new system has killed off bad behaviours - they still bicker constantly, and that's fine. It's more like they've drawn a line, and they've all got a vague idea of where the line is, but Brian has the final say on that. John has spotted Freddie and Roger throw a curious glance in Brian's direction once or twice when things have got a bit heated, as though wondering how far they can go. So far, Brian has yet to give any indication that their line is in sight. John expects it won't be long before they have a repeat performance; he loves them both dearly, but if there's one thing Freddie and Roger live for, it's pushing each other's buttons.

So, he waits, as he's pretty sure Brian waits, and he watches their two bandmates edge closer to the line.

He certainly isn't expecting to beat them both to the finish.

It starts with a very faint headache. John has amassed a dictionary's worth of headache definitions in the years he's spent with _Queen_ , and as they go, this one isn't worth mentioning. So he doesn't.

It gets stronger throughout the day. By lunch, it's bad enough for him to squint away from the lights, frowning as his head pulses. Roger, sat next to him, asks what's wrong; John tells him nothing, and summons a smile to go with it. There's no point causing a fuss.

After they've eaten, they return to the studio. They're close to finishing a song they've been working on for weeks, and John knows that day should be the final day - he knows they're all hoping so, because they're getting restless and they need something fresh to work on. Freddie is starting to complain that he can't sleep for the lyrics going round and round in his head.

John's headache worsens through the afternoon, but really, it's a headache; what is he supposed to say? He's a big boy; he's dealt with worse. They've all dealt with worse.

By the time they get to early evening, his head is throbbing with every beat of Roger's drums, every strum of his and Brian's guitars, every note that leaves Freddie's mouth. He's trying not to give any outward signs of his headache, just wanting to get this song finished so that they can all go home, but then Roger delivers a crashing crescendo and John can't hide his wince.

Unfortunately, Brian notices. "John? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," John says again, forcing out the same smile that he gave Roger earlier. Brian does not look convinced. "I'm fine. The drums just made me jump."

Brian continues to stare at him. "You look a bit pale," he says. "Are you sure? We can stop, come back to this tomorrow - "

"No," says John quickly. Behind Brian, Freddie has stopped scribbling on his lyrics and is watching them, head cocked in concern. "Honestly, I'm absolutely fine. Let's just get on with this."

The look Brian gives him is a bit searching, but he seems ready to take John at his word. He turns away and calls to Freddie; they lean over the lyrics page together.

For some reason, they seem to be moving about, swaying from side to side. John blinks, frowns, gives his head a little shake (mistake) to try to clear his vision. His head pounds. Brian and Freddie still look like they're swaying, spreading out across his vision, beginning to blur.

Oh, no.

John squeezes his eyes tightly shut. He fumbles about with his guitar whilst he still has control over his hands, not wanting to drop it. He gets it settled on the ground and grasps about for something to hold onto. The room has started to spin around him, slow at first but getting faster, and there are dark spots beginning to swamp his vision.

He hears, "John?!" from somewhere very far away before his legs suddenly give out under him. He's unconscious before he hits the floor.

-

He wakes to Freddie's worried eyes right up in his face, and would jump in surprise if that tiny movement didn't take far more energy than he is capable of giving right now.

"John?"

"He lives!" says Roger from behind Freddie.

John sees blonde hair behind Freddie, followed by Brian's mass of curls. He shuts his eyes tight, not wanting to risk his vision beginning to spin again.

"John? How are you, darling?"

Freddie sounds distant and all too close at the same time. John raises a hand to push him back a bit, or thinks he does - he doesn't really have all that much awareness for what exactly his body is doing right now. He thinks he must have managed some sort of feeble gesture, at least, because he hears Brian softly say, "Move back a bit, Fred, give him some space."

It takes a while for him to feel anything resembling normal again, but eventually he manages to sit up and accept the glass of water that Roger has been hovering with for the past ten minutes. Freddie asks him a torrent of questions - has he eaten enough? What has he eaten? Is he in pain? Has this happened before? What can they do? - but quietens when Brian nudges him, leaving John to gather himself.

He sits and waits for his strength to return. Brian fetches him some orange juice and a chocolate bar to give him a bit of a boost; John accepts them gratefully and nibbles on the chocolate, rolling his eyes a bit when Freddie holds out a hand for some. When he feels well enough, he gets up off the floor and onto a chair that Brian has brought closer for him.

"I have to say, Deaky, that was fairly impressive," says Roger. "Very dramatic. I particularly enjoyed the way you silently fainted, it was very _you_."

Freddie badly disguises a snort. Brian just shakes his head.

His faint seems to have effectively ended the recording session, which is annoying; they'll have to come back to the damn song tomorrow. Nobody complains as they begin to clear up their things and get ready to leave. John tries to join in but Roger calls him an idiot and Freddie tells him he mustn't, and John decides it's easier to just let them get on with it than bear the brunt of their fussing.

He's about to leave when Brian puts a hand on his arm.

"John? A word?"

He stops. Roger and Freddie glance at them and walk on ahead.

"I'm fine, Brian," John says, a bit wearily, "really, I am. I just need some rest."

"You are now," Brian says pointedly. "You weren't when I asked you before."

There's a beat of silence. John isn't sure what is he supposed to say.

Brian lets the quiet stretch on for a moment too long before he says, "Go home and rest up, you clearly need it. But... we're going to have to have a talk, tomorrow. About you keeping things to yourself and endangering yourself."

John blinks. "A talk?" he says before he can help himself; his mouth snaps shut straight after the words escape, because he recognises the look on Brian's face and he recognises his tone. He is not sure he wants Brian to offer an explanation.

Brian frowns at him. "Not just a talk."

Oh, no. No, no no. There is no way that this is happening to him. There is no way that he is going to end up the unlucky recipient of their discipline system before Roger.

"I've been thinking," Brian says, "after Freddie - after that. I think we need to draw up some rules. So we're all on the same page. That seems fair, don't you think?"

"Any chance we can view Freddie's punishment as a trial period and start the system afresh from the setting of the rules?" John asks weakly.

Brian gives him a tight smile that clearly says, "Nice try." Out loud, he says, "I'll see you tomorrow, John."

John all but flees the studio.

-

"It won't be that bad," says Freddie, when John barricades himself into the toilet the next morning. "Really."

"It's easy to say that after the event," John moans.

The locked toilet door groans a bit as Freddie leans on it from outside. "True," hums Freddie, "but really, John, do you honestly expect that I'm never going to find myself in that position again?"

There's amusement in Freddie's tone, of all things. John cannot think of a time he has felt less amused.

After a few moments, Freddie sighs. "Open the door, darling. It's not nearly as nice to look at as you are, you know."

John presses both hands to his face. He can't stay in here forever, as much as he would like to.

When he unlocks the door, Freddie ushers John out and takes both John's hands in his own. "Listen to me," he says. "You're going to go out there, and Brian is going to spank you, because that's what has been decided. The sooner you go out, the sooner it will be over. And - " he pauses here, clearly choosing his words carefully. "You'll feel better afterwards. Trust me."

John thinks about Freddie's punishment, how Brian had held him afterwards. He thinks about the reasons for the discipline system; how they're doing this for _Queen_.

Wordlessly, he nods. Freddie beams at him and gives his hands a squeeze, then leads him out of the toilets.

Brian and Roger are waiting. John's stomach twists uncomfortably, but Freddie puts an arm around his shoulders. John remembers how Freddie had taken his punishment and squares his shoulders under Freddie's arm. He can do this.

Roger grins at him as he approaches. "Wow, John," he says, with apparently sincere admiration, the twisted bastard. "You beat me. I'm impressed. And a little bit disappointed in myself, to be honest. Little Deaky, earning himself a punishment before me."

"Roger," says Brian, "you can always have a go before Deaky, if you want. Because you seem to want that. Am I right?"

"Wrong," Roger says hastily. He moves a little bit away from Brian.

"Come here, John," Brian says.

John goes. His legs feel a bit wobbly, and he tell that he's already tomato-red, but he doesn't hesitate and he's proud of that. It's awkward, laying himself down over Brian's lap, but Brian helps him as best he can, spreading his legs to give John more room. He's taller than Freddie so it takes a bit more work, but between them they manage to make him fit.

Now that he's here, face-down, the whole situation suddenly seems a lot more real and a lot less like a bad dream. He isn't sure what to do with his hands, feeling hyper-aware of his limbs.

"I'm going to spank you seven times," Brian says above him. Freddie makes a vaguely indignant noise from somewhere close by which breaks off suddenly. John suspects he's been elbowed in the ribs. "Are you ready?"

John fidgets and tucks his hands up to his chest. He draws in a deep breath, then he nods.

He hears the slap before he feels it, but the sting when it comes is sudden and sharp. Brian spanks him twice more before he speaks, and John is almost glad of it when he does - the silence, knowing that Freddie and Roger are looking on, is almost the worst part of it.

"Do you understand why you're being punished, John?" Brian asks calmly.

John starts to nod, then changes his mind and croaks out a, "Yes," not wanting to give Brian any reason to up the number of strikes. "Because I didn't tell you I felt unwell."

"Correct," says Brian, just as he lands another slap to John's ass. "You lied, and in doing so you put yourself at risk."

Another smack, harder this time.

"And none of us appreciate that. You're too important to us."

"Sorry," John offers meekly.

Brian huffs out a little laugh. John feels it vibrate through him. "Thanks for the apology, but you're still going to have to face us and say it again," he says dryly. He brings his hand down with a crack and John winces.

"Don't do it again," Brian says, and with that he spanks John for the final time.

John is glad that he is not the first to end up in this position, that he knows what's coming next; he's ready for it when Brian pulls him up into a sitting position to face him. He still fidgets uncomfortably, because he hadn't really been expecting his ass to sting quite as much as it did just from those few strikes.

He doesn't need prompting; he looks Brian dead in the eye and says, "I'm sorry, Brian. I won't lie again."

Then he looks at the other two. They're both smiling, but not in a teasing way - Roger just looks glad for his sake that it's over, and Freddie, the weirdo, looks a bit proud. "Sorry, Roger. Sorry, Fred."

Brian curls an arm around his back and pulls him in for a hug that becomes a cuddle. John has no objections. Freddie was right; he really does feel better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: they make rules! Roger breaks one! Or maybe two! I don't know I'm making this up as I go along!
> 
> Let me know if there's anything you want to see!


	3. Roger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back already because I have the self control of a gnat
> 
> Loz requested: i am totally here for bratty roger getting what he deserves but what if he can’t take it... so they have to find another way to deal with him?
> 
> The tags have been updated for this chapter so just be aware of that before reading!

"That's _so_ Brian," says Roger when Brian calls them all together and tells them he wants to talk through the proposed rules for their discipline system.

"I'm going to take that as a compliment," says Brian, unphased. "It's going to be a collaborative discussion where we can all pitch in ideas. And it will be respectful."

He gives Roger a _look_ at this point. He doesn't notice the fact that Freddie is pretending to slap his ass behind his back, giving a gigantic dramatic wink as he does, which is a shame, because Roger is sure it would be fun if Brian did. Freddie stops before he can drop him in it for a laugh, though, and wanders over to sit down beside John at the table.

Roger follows and settles himself down. Brian, bless his heart, has brought four sheets of paper and four pens, presumably so that they can each have their own copy. It's adorable how seriously he's taking this, not that Roger will admit that out loud. He's rather enjoying his status as the only non-Brian member of _Queen_ not to end up bent over their guitarist's lap, something he knows Deaky is still reeling at.

"Okay." Brian looks around at his bandmates. "So. We all know what this is about, yes? Anybody need a recap?"

He's using his teacher voice. Roger is privately convinced that Brian has conditioned the three of them using it; when he pitches his voice just so, they all shut up and listen. Roger shakes his head in unison with Freddie and John.

"Good," says Brian brisky, "we can get started straight away. Any ideas for rule number one?"

Roger looks at John. John looks at Freddie. Freddie looks at Brian.

Brian stares back at each of them in turn, one eyebrow raised.

"Oh come on, these rules don't have to be in order of importance," he says impatiently. "We just need to agree on them so that we're all working from the same page. Freddie, why did I spank you?"

Freddie scowls a little at being called out. Roger smirks at him, which apparently emboldens Freddie to play up. "Oh, I'm sure I don't know," he says, looking up at the ceiling and examining it as though he might find the answer scrawled up there.

Roger coughs to cover a laugh.

"You don't remember?" asks Brian calmly. "Would you like a reminder?"

Freddie picks at his nails. "Hmmmmmmm," he says, dragging it out. "You spanked me because... hmm."

Roger sees Deaky dart a slightly incredulous look at Freddie, as though he can't believe that Freddie has chosen this moment to test the boundaries they haven't even laid down yet. Roger is torn between wanting to laugh and wanting to kick Freddie under the table, because for all Freddie's bravado he knows he'll regret it if he does push Brian too far.

Brian reaches out and covers one of Freddie's hands with his own, squeezing until Freddie's eyes slide away from the ceiling and meet his own.

"I spanked you because you were being childish and disruptive, and if the message didn't get through to you, I'm perfectly happy to do it again," says Brian.

Freddie's face remains expressionless, which Roger has to admit is impressive, but the colour that creeps along his cheekbones betrays him. He holds Brian's gaze for a moment before his eyes drop.

Brian nods, satisfied. "I thought so." He lets go of Freddie and picks up his pen, then looks at Freddie expectantly. "Rule number one?"

"Don't be disruptive," Freddie mutters.

"Let's go with 'excessively disruptive'," Brian decides. He scribbles the words down. Roger and John follow suit; after a moment, Freddie does too. "Case in point; just now, you were mildly disruptive but you stopped before any action needed to be taken. Last time you didn't, so you ended up getting punished."

Roger spots Freddie underlining 'excessively' on his piece of paper, as though by doing so he gives himself more leeway. He hides a smile.

"Rule two?" asks Brian.

"Don't lie," says John quickly, presumably before he too can be asked about his own experiences. "About anything important."

Brian nods; they write it down.

Roger fidgets in his seat. He feels like he needs to contribute, but he's not sure what to say. He tries to think back to what Brian had said when he'd first brought the idea up with him and John, in the wake of Freddie's return to the band. He'd spoken about how they needed a find a way to stop tensions building so much all the time, a way to step in and stop fights before they got going, and a clearer structure of authority within the band.

"Accept the judgement," he offers. Brian glances at him, questioning. "I mean, you can't argue your way out of what the others decide."

"Good one." Brian adds it to the list. 

"And - could we have one about making the decisions, too? As in, when we make a decision, it's not to be made in temper? It needs to be a measured reaction."

Brian looks approving at this. "Don't act in temper," he agrees as he writes it down.

Roger sits back in his chair, feeling satisfied that he's done his part. He writes down the other's suggestions as they come. It doesn't escape his notice that each suggestion is phrased as a question, his bandmates seeking Brian's approval before committing to their ideas. It doesn't surprise him. Brian has that way about him; he makes you want to impress him. And, Roger thinks, his eyes flickering from John (chewing the end of his pen) to Freddie (head down on the table but eyes open, looking at Brian) and Brian himself (scanning their growing list of rules), it seems to work like this.

-

Naturally, it's one of Roger's own suggested rules that comes back to bite him on the arse, literally.

'Don't mock' had seemed like a perfectly good suggestion, and he'd been thinking of Deaky's face when Brian had finished spanking him when he said it. He'd been planning to make a funny comment when Deaky resurfaced from Brian's lap, but he'd looked so vulnerable that the comment had lodged in Roger's throat and he had just been glad for John's sake that it was behind him.

So they'd all agreed that mockery around punishments was unhelpful and unkind, and they'd written it down. Roger is not entirely sure how the situation got from Point A: writing down 'thou shalt not mock' on the rules to Point B: Brian telling him that he had earned himself a punishment because he'd made fun of his bandmates one too many times, but here he was.

It was something to do with Freddie being a pain in the arse, and Roger quipping that he'd better pack it in before Brian gave him a pain in his arse, and then Brian had reminded him of the rule they'd made and Roger, like an idiot, hadn't recognised the warning in that, so he'd kept on going, aiming sly comments at Freddie because he was funny when he got riled, and somewhere in the midst of it all he'd dug himself the hole in which he was now standing.

Standing alone, because Brian has taken Freddie and John off to one side to discuss what to do with him. Roger suddenly appreciates with clarity how Freddie must have felt when this happened to him.

He goes over to his drums and sits down (not _hiding_ , he's not hiding, he's just... keeping out of the way for a bit). He stares at the canvas stretched taut in front of him and tries to stop the flare of anxiety he can feel building in his chest.

He can just about hear the low hum of conversation from the other side of the studio. Knowing that they're talking about him, discussing how to punish him, makes the anxiety spread, creeping up into his throat. He swallows.

God, he wishes he could just turn back time and stamp on Roger-from-15-minutes-ago's foot to get him to shut up.

They're still talking. John keeps glancing over at him. Roger imagines what's coming next - having to walk over there and accept his fate, submit himself to be punished just as he'd been laughing at Freddie for moments ago. He's going to be spanked like a child in front of his friends, by one of his friends.

Roger hates embarrassing himself. His hands are clammy just thinking about it.

They call him over and for a brief moment Roger seriously considers just darting out of the door instead. But he knows he can't. Freddie has done this, John has done this. He can't be the one to let the side down.

His nerves don't get any better when he approaches them; his heart is beating faster than ever and he can't bear to look at any of their faces.

"Ten," says Brian when Roger stops in front of him. Roger still doesn't look at him, but there's a grim tone to Brian's voice which makes him want to shrink into the floor. "Same as Fred got, seeing as you seem to find his punishment so funny."

"I don't," Roger says, addressing the floor, though he knows it's hopeless to try and argue his way out. "I thought we were having a laugh."

"Having a laugh implies Freddie should have been laughing along with you," says Brian. Roger is sure he sounds more stern with him than he did with either Fred or John, he's sure he's not imagining that. In the corner of his vision, he sees Freddie shift his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot. Roger stares at a crack in the floor instead and shoves his hands into his pockets for something to do, clenching his fists once his hands are out of sight.

 _You can do this,_ he tells himself, _you can do this, you can do this._

"Over my lap, Roger."

Fuck. He doesn't move, digging his nails into the flesh of his palms. He wants to move, to get it over and done with, but his legs are frozen in place.

"Now," says Brian sharply.

Roger sucks in a breath and forces himself to move. His legs feel wobbly under him. Brian is sitting down on the chair, legs spread wide. Roger bends over his knees and closes his eyes against the rush of humiliation.

He's glad his hair is long enough to cover his face; he's very aware that the flush on his face is not just from the way his head is hanging over Brian's knee.

Brian rests a hand on the curve of Roger's ass. Roger tries to be thankful that he knows his jeans are staying firmly up - they discussed that when setting the rules, and Brian was adamant that pants come down from the second transgression, so Roger's fine for now. But he's finding it exceptionally hard to be thankful for anything, or indeed aware of anything that isn't the hot embarrassment pooling in his belly.

Brian doesn't say anything before he slaps Roger's ass for the first time, and the strike makes Roger jump. He clutches at Brian's knee, his hand pressed between Brian's leg and his own chest.

Brian spanks him again, hard. "You know why you're here but I still want to hear you say it," Brian says. He lands another slap in the same place; the sharp noise seems to fill the studio. Roger can't stop thinking about the fact that John and Freddie are watching. He doesn't answer Brian, too caught up in his humiliation.

"Roger," Brian says sharply, and he delivers two smacks in quick succession. "You can't avoid the consequences by ignoring me. Tell us why you're here."

Another slap, and a little whimper escapes Roger before he can stop it. He clamps his lips shut tight, mortified at the noise.

"Don't be stubborn about this," Brian sighs. "It just makes it ten times harder for everyone else."

He spanks Roger again, but that's not what Roger is thinking about. He's thinking about the disappointment in Brian's voice, how his opinion of Roger must have shrunk down low, how he's handling this worse than Freddie, worse than John, how they could get through it but he couldn't, can't -

Fuck, is he _crying_? He can't be, he just can't be, it's not like Brian's really hurt him -

"Roger?"

Brian's hand comes to settle on his ass again, without any force this time. He waits a beat, then asks again, quietly, "Roger?"

Roger doesn't say anything but he shakes his head hard. Tears are welling under his closed eyelids and he doesn't know why. He didn't mean to cry. He definitely doesn't mean to be still crying, and his heart is pounding in his chest like he's run a marathon.

Brian runs his hand up Roger's back. It takes a moment for Roger to recognise the gesture as soothing.

"I'm going to move my legs," Brian tells him, "so you can sit up. Alright? Don't want you to fall."

He does as he says, keeping his hands steady on Roger's waist. It's a relief to move, and Roger feels like he can breathe so much more easily when he's not pressed down over Brian's lap - but sitting up brings its own issues, because he's still got his eyes closed but he knows the others haven't, which means they can see his red face, his tear stained cheeks.

Brian pulls him into a gentle hug. Roger hides his face in Brian's shoulder and sucks in a shuddery breath. God, what has come over him? The closest thing he's ever felt to this before is pre-concert jitters, in the early days, and even then he'd never cried from anxiety. He feels pathetic and he clings to Brian harder.

Brian rubs comforting circles against his back. "It's alright," he murmurs. "Take however long you need."

After a few moments, Roger feels another hand on his back. "Just letting you know I'm here, Rog," says John quietly.

He hears footsteps as Freddie moves, then feels a kiss dropped on top of his head. "Here, darling."

Slowly, Roger's heartbeat begins to calm. His hands lose their tremor. He finally opens his eyes and edges back out of Brian's embrace to meet his gaze before he can give himself time to back out of it. Brian's eyes are full of concern but he smiles softly when Roger looks at him.

"How are you feeling?" he asks.

Roger shrugs. He's not sure what he can possibly say. He glances up and sees Freddie standing behind Brian, leaning on his shoulders. John is behind Roger. Between them, he feels cocooned; safe.

"Sorry," he says, for lack of anything else to say.

Brian shakes his head. "Don't be. Not your fault. I'm sorry for not realising it was affecting you sooner."

Roger winces a bit. "It shouldn't have, though, it wasn't like you were hurting me - Fred took the same - "

"We're all individuals, Rog. We all react differently to different things."

"And I did cry," Freddie adds, "you just weren't there when it happened. Delayed reaction, that's all."

They're being so kind, painfully kind. Roger draws in a slow breath then says, "You can carry on now, Bri."

But Brian shakes his head again. "No, we're done," he says decisively.

"That's not fair," Roger objects, "I can't be allowed to get away with it - "

"Rule number eleven: it is important to care for the recipient," says John promptly. "You're not getting away with anything. You were punished and now we're caring for you."

"Did you memorise the rule book?" asks Freddie.

"Maybe," John says, deadpan.

"How typical," sniffs Freddie, and just like that, the tension is cut; as John laughs, Roger relaxes against Brian and lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

Brian gives him a little squeeze. "You alright?"

Roger nods. "Yeah. I - I really am sorry, Bri. I don't mean for getting all worked up," he adds quickly when Brian opens his mouth, "I mean for - for making fun earlier, and breaking the rules. And I'll tell Freddie that too, and John." He glances up at them. "When they've stopped arguing over who'll manage to fit the most references to the rules into a song."

Brian smiles at him. "Thanks, Rog," he says. He follows Roger's gaze to their bandmates, getting progressively louder as they shout rules at each other to the tune of Queen songs. "Though I think your apology might have to wait quite a while..." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ideas plz


	4. Freddie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All aboard the good ship Frian...
> 
> Explicit chapter.
> 
> Also I'm lazy and just writing this like there are no significant others involved in the boys' lives, because it's easier that way.

Freddie is being odd.

That in itself is nothing new. Freddie is a self-proclaimed oddball and proud of it. Brian doesn't usually bat an eyelid at anything Freddie does, far too used to him to be surprised at any of his antics.

Recently though, something seems to have changed. Freddie seems more - provocative, somehow, like he's deliberately nudging at boundaries just to see what happens. Usually if Freddie is in a mood he'll take it out on anything and anyone, but that's not the case now. He's pally with Roger, sweet with John, charming with studio staff and visitors. He smiles for fans when they bump into him on the street and signs his name for them with easygoing grace.

Then he comes back to Brian and needles at him, goads, digs his fingers into bruises to see what kind of reaction he gets.

Brian is fairly sure he knows where Freddie's attitude problem (this specific problem, at least) began. It's not since they began disciplining each other - Freddie was repentant when he first found himself over Brian's knee, Brian truly believes that, and he'd been fine for a while afterwards.

But after that period of relative calm, Freddie had found himself back over Brian's knee about a month later. Nobody was surprised that Freddie had been the first to earn himself a second punishment. Brian thinks that was where this little problem seemed to come from. As per the rules they'd all agreed to, he'd taken Freddie's jeans down to spank him for the second time. Freddie was hardly shy, but he hadn't seemed to like that at all. He'd been tense and difficult, mulish when Brian told him to apologise, and he'd ended up earning himself more strikes as a result.

Since then, he's found himself in the same position three more times. If it's being spanked bare-arsed that he has a problem with, he really isn't doing anything to help himself.

He seems determined to make it to five punishments; today, Freddie is taking great delight in pushing every metaphorical button in sight. It comes to a head, as it always does, and it's actually John who has enough in the end.

Freddie is singing the wrong lyrics deliberately. It was funny at first, but it stopped being funny a good half hour ago. The song is John's; Brian knows he's proud of it, in his own quiet way, and he also knows that John put a lot of heart into the lyrics he'd presented Freddie with.

He doesn't shout or lose his temper, but he stops playing; the sudden loss of bass is stark in the studio. He lays his guitar down and says without preamble, "We're all permitted to be involved in making decisions about discipline, yes?"

"Of course," says Brian,

"I'd like to suggest that Freddie takes a turn over your knee, Brian."

Freddie does a dramatic gasp in the background. Roger turns round and throws a drumstick at him, then turns back to John. "For the record, I agree," he says loudly, pointedly ignoring the way Freddie is pretending that the drumstick nearly took his eye out behind him.

"We can do that," Brian says grimly. "Freddie, come here."

"One moment, darling, Roger seems to have _misplaced_ his drumstick," Freddie calls back, and promptly turns his back on Brian to make a show of hunting for it.

Brian's had enough. He marches over and grabs Freddie's upper arm, twists him so that he's leaning awkwardly into Brian, and delivers a single hard slap to Freddie's ass. Freddie yelps, startled, then bites down on his lip as though he hadn't meant to make the noise. He glares up at Brian. Roger and John watch in silence.

"When I tell you to come here," Brian says in a low, dangerous voice, "and you know that it is because you are going to be disciplined, you do as you are told." He spanks him again, the crack of his hand loud in the otherwise silent studio.

Freddie doesn't answer, but he's not trying to wriggle free of Brian's grip at least, so Brian lets him go. He's looking around for the nearest chair to sit on so he can bring Freddie down properly onto his lap when he catches John's eye and an idea strikes him.

"Actually," he says, "I think you should do it, John."

John looks taken aback, but it's nothing compared to the sudden flash of emotions that cross Freddie's face.

"No," he says.

Brian raises a single, unimpressed eyebrow. "You're really going to argue with me right now?"

Freddie folds his arms across his chest and tips his head up. If the effect is meant to be intimidating, it falls short. "I said no," he says. "John won't spank me. I won't let him."

Brian stares at him incredulously. "Have I been going easy on you? Do you think I'm the soft option?" He's not, he knows he's not, and he doesn't want Freddie to get away with his behaviour, but he's hoping that having to be disciplined by someone else might shock Freddie back into his usual self.

Freddie doesn't answer, but the look on his face is all too familiar to each of his bandmates. The stubbornness in the set to his jaw is not going to go away any time soon.

Brian considers himself a patient man, generally, but his temper is close to bubbling point now. "You're going to do exactly as you're told," he snaps at Freddie, "and if I say you're going to go over there and bend over John's lap, you're going to do just that."

Freddie looks him dead in the eye.

"No," he repeats, and then he turns on his heel and stalks away.

Brian stares after him. He doesn't know what to do. He knows what he wants to do, but he stops himself from chasing after Freddie and dragging him back. Their rules are important, they exist for a reason, and Brian refuses to let Freddie goad him into acting in temper.

There's a moment of silence as Freddie leaves the room, the door swinging decisively shut behind him. Then Roger stands up.

"I," he says, stretching and stepping away from his drum, "am not touching that one with a bargepole." He crosses over to Brian and pats his arm. "Yours to deal with, I'm afraid, mate. Good luck." He looks at John. "Fancy heading out for a bit, missing the fireworks?"

John nods. He looks vaguely nonplussed, like he's not quite sure what just happened. "Does he think I'll be better at it than Brian?" he asks Roger as the two of them walk out. "Because I won't be. I really, really won't be."

Brian hears Roger's snort of laughter but not his reply. He wonders where Freddie has gone, if he's going to have to go looking for him.

If he does, he'll do it later. Brian sits down to give himself time to think and calm down. The quiet of the room helps; he's glad Roger and John took their chance to scarper. He has a feeling that whatever showdown with Freddie he's facing, having an audience for Freddie to play up to would only make it worse.

He wonders if this is his fault, if he's pushed Freddie too far with the discipline system. He'd thought, given how well Freddie reacted the first time, that all was well. That's clearly not the case, though. Their disciplining each other was never meant to be a game. It was meant to simplify their dynamics, help keep them stable, but lately he feels like he's locked in a little dance with Freddie: two steps forward, one step back, and Freddie is taking every punishment as a challenge, a dare to go even further next time.

The click of the door brings Brian's head up. Freddie is standing in the doorway, watching him. His expression is inscrutable, but he's lost that stubborn look at least. And if he's come back, then surely that means he's willing to at least try to be reasonable.

"Why?" Brian asks him simply. "Why are you being like this? I thought we'd agreed, after - before Live Aid, I thought you wanted this to work out for us. Why are you putting that at risk?" He pauses, and he has to ask: "And why in God's name did you not take the chance for John to punish you instead of me? He's never done it before, did you really think he was going to be worse to face than me?"

Unexpectedly, Freddie gives a little huff of laughter. It seems to surprise him as much as Brian; he puts up a hand to hide his mouth as though he can take the noise back.

"I didn't think of it like that," he admits.

"How _did_ you think of it?" says Brian, exasperated.

Freddie gives him a look which can only be described as shifty. He comes a bit closer and shrugs one shoulder, evasive. He seems to have no intention of answering that, but Brian is fed up of not knowing what's going on in Freddie's head. He's not used to it and he doesn't like it.

"Freddie," he says. He sounds tired to his own ears. "Be honest with me. That's one of our rules, isn't it? Tell me what's going on."

Freddie is staring at him. He looks like he's weighing up a decision. He also looks like he's completely torn between whatever the hell his options are.

"You can trust me," Brian says quietly. "Can't you? Haven't you always been able to trust me?"

Freddie bites his lip. As Brian watches, he seems to come to a decision, drawing in a deep breath and squaring his shoulders. He comes closer still, until he's stood by Brian's knees. Brian is half-expecting him to assume his usual position and bend over Brian's lap, but he doesn't.

Instead, he leans in and kisses him.

Brian's mind goes blank. Freddie's mouth is soft and warm against his own and when Freddie exhales, their lips still touching, it's ever so slightly shaky. Freddie is nervous.

Something about that makes Brian's heart feel like it's suddenly tripled in size. Freddie is nervous. Freddie is kissing him. _Freddie_ is _nervous_ about kissing _him_.

Brian wants him closer. His hands find Freddie's waist and gently guide him until he's standing between Brian's knees, but that's still not close enough. He tugs him gently and Freddie bends, pliable under Brian's hands, to sit on one of Brian's knees with a soft little noise.

"Well," Brian murmurs, pulling back just enough to talk, though Freddie half-follows him so their lips are still touching ever so slightly. "This is unexpected."

He draws back a bit more, so that he can look at Freddie. Freddie is looking back at him and for the first time in a while, there's no manufactured expression on his face. He looks vulnerable, his eyes searching Brian's for a clue as to where they can go from here. Brian smiles at him and Freddie visibly relaxes.

Brian wants him, he realises. He wants Freddie. He thinks, at the very back of his mind, that there's a chance that he's wanted Freddie for a long, long time but never allowed himself to examine any inkling he might have had about that. Freddie is Freddie, after all. He looks for excitement where Brian looks for stability; he loves to be wild where Brian enjoys finding his peace.

But maybe none of that matters. Maybe it's a good thing. They're each other's missing pieces.

Brian knows it's up to him to make the next move. Freddie has given him the honesty he asked for.

His hands tighten on Freddie's waist and he pulls him in for another kiss, not so chaste this time. Freddie responds with enthusiasm and the next thing Brian knows, Freddie's no longer demurely perched on one knee but fully in his lap. The weight of him makes Brian grunt and he hooks an arm around Freddie's back to keep him balanced as Freddie's mouth finds his again and his hands begin to roam all over every bit of Brian that he can reach. Brian responds in kind, his free hand tangling in Freddie's hair, curving down his back and sliding down further to grab his arse.

It's not long before Freddie starts to ramble, which comes as absolutely no surprise to Brian. "Wanted this," he mumbles, kissing his way down Brian's jaw and latching onto his throat, "wanted this for ages." His mouth is hot and Brian shudders, palms at Freddie through his jeans and feels Freddie groan against his neck in response. "Wanted you, couldn't stand how much I wanted you, always thinking about this, about you bending me over your knee again."

And Brian's mind is full of _FreddieFreddieFreddie_ but that manages to break through somehow. He stills. "What?"

Freddie either doesn't hear or doesn't care to explain; he grinds himself down against Brian and moves his mouth back up to catch Brian's in a messy kiss.

It's incredibly distracting, but Brian prides himself on his self-control. He manages to pull himself together enough to grab Freddie by the shoulders and haul him back a bit so that he can get a good look at him. Freddie actually whines at him, straining against his hold, but Brian holds him firm.

"Is this what all that was about?" Brian asks incredulously. "You've been trying to piss me off so I'd spank you?"

Freddie grins at him, entirely unrepentant, and damn him, but Brian's greatest weakness in life is Freddie smiling without insecurity, and he's convinced Freddie knows it and uses it to his advantage as it pleases him.

"Maybe," he says smugly, and leans in for another kiss.

Brian lets him, because now is not the time. "We," he says between kisses, holding Freddie steady on his lap as Freddie reaches down and unbuttons his jeans, "are going to _talk_ about that. Later."

"Later," Freddie agrees. He shimmies out of his jeans and Brian helps him drag them down his thighs along with his underwear. Something in Brian's chest blooms fierce and hot at how hard Freddie is, how he presses his body close and seeks more of everything, more touching, more Brian, because Brian did this to Freddie, he knows that, and it makes him feel possessive and proud and protective all at once.

And so turned on that he thinks, logic aside for once, that he might just die if he doesn't get to fuck Freddie, _now_.

He wraps his arms around Freddie's back and lifts him up, murmuring assurances into Freddie's hair when he grunts in surprise. It would be easier if Freddie's legs were wrapped around him ( _like they will be, like they should be_ , his brain insists unhelpfully), but the piano is only a short distance away; Brian carries Freddie over to it with relative ease and lays him down across the back of it.

Freddie stretches out as soon as he can, back arched and knees up, and the look he gives Brian is positively sinful. "Are we sure misuse of musical equipment isn't on the list?" he quips.

"Oh, shut up," Brian mutters, and Freddie flashes him a smirk in return.

Brian's hands find the denim of Freddie's jeans again and he yanks, pulling them down properly; Freddie wriggles out of them until his legs are finally free. Brian runs his hands down Freddie's thighs and slips them under the curve of his knees, then pulls. Freddie gives a little gasp as he's tugged closer to Brian, his legs spread around his waist.

He leans over Freddie and kisses him properly, his hand finding Freddie's cock between them and giving it a slow pump full of promise. Then, as Freddie's breath stutters into his mouth, Brian stops.

"One moment," Brian whispers against Freddie's lips. He lets go and steps away.

With his back to Freddie he doesn't bother to hide his grin at the outraged little noise that escapes Freddie's mouth at the sudden loss of contact. He's not cruel enough to delay for any longer than necessary (and he wants this too much himself), but he can't pretend he's not enjoying how wound up Freddie is.

"What are you - ?"

Brian doesn't reply, but quickens his pace as he walks over to the table where Roger and John had flung down their jackets and bags when they arrived that morning. Praying that he knows Roger Taylor as well as he thinks he does, he has a quick rummage through his coat pockets and the side pocket of his bag, where he finds exactly what he was looking for: a pack of condoms and a tube of lube.

When he turns back to Freddie, he has to swallow at the sight; he's stripped off his t-shirt too, and sprawled out on the piano like that, jeans in a heap on the floor and face flushed with want, Freddie looks fucked out already. When he sees what Brian is holding, his eyebrows raise halfway to his hairline, and then he bursts out laughing.

Brian's heart skips a bit, because Freddie's laugh is beautiful, but his emotions are going to have to wait a bit longer; his body is demanding attention now.

He joins Freddie again. He's still laughing; Brian lets him whilst he gets his own jeans down. "Oh, poor Roger. All that forward thinking and careful planning to be ever-ready and his own bandmates go and steal from him." He sounds entirely too delighted by the concept.

Brian shakes his head, grinning. He sets the condoms down and uncaps the lube, coating his fingers. "I'll replace them."

"Of course you will, you're - " Freddie's amused voice breaks off abruptly as Brian pulls his knees back up and his lubed up fingers slide along the curve of Freddie's ass and dip between his cheeks to his hole.

Brian keeps his eyes on Freddie's face as he pushes a finger inside, watching as Freddie's breath catches. He works him open steadily, taking his time, and before long Freddie is squirming against his hand and making the loveliest little noises.

When he's got three fingers in Freddie and he thinks Freddie feels ready, thinks he himself really can't wait any longer, he presses a quick kiss to Freddie's cheek and asks, "Ready?"

Freddie, of all things, glares at him. "If you make a 'ready Freddie' joke I swear to God, Brian - "

Brian huffs out a laugh. He pulls his fingers free and fumbles with the condom, then slides a hand under Freddie's knee and bends his leg back a bit more. Then he lines himself up, sucks in a breath and pushes in slowly.

They groan in unison. Brian has to squeeze his eyes shut, grappling with his self-control, and when he opens them again he sees Freddie has done the same. The sight of Freddie's face, flushed, eyes tightly closed and mouth half-open, is nearly enough to send his self-control fleeing into the distance again.

He doesn't need to ask if Freddie is okay, because Freddie's eyes open and he groans, " _Move_ , Brian." His voice sounds higher; Brian decides then and there that he wants to hear lots more of that voice from Freddie. He snaps his hips obligingly, finds his pace.

He's not surprised in the slightest to find that Freddie is as vocal when he's getting fucked as he is in every other area of life. Brian kisses and nips and sucks marks into Freddie's neck, his collarbone, under his ear, but he leaves Freddie's mouth free for as long as he can bear because he wants to hear every noise he makes. When the urge to press their lips together again proves too strong, Freddie moans into his mouth and Brian feels the vibration against his lips, his tongue, and he nearly comes there and then.

He doesn't, though; there's something he wants to try out first. He meant it when he said he and Freddie will be talking about Freddie's blatant disregard of the actual purpose of the discipline system they've set up within the band, but Brian's only human. Knowing that Freddie has been playing up on purpose, actively trying to provoke Brian into telling him off and spanking him, is too good an opportunity to miss.

So he slows his thrusts down and bends over Freddie, catching his wrists and pulling them up over his head; the piano isn't quite big enough, and he hears a jangle of keys as Freddie's hands brush against them. Freddie squirms, tugs a little as though testing his grip. Brian holds him firm.

"Roger could walk in at any moment," he whispers into Freddie's neck, and Freddie gasps under him. "Or John. Do you think they'd be surprised? Finding you here on your back with your arse out, getting fucked 'til that pretty voice gives out?" He doesn't know where the words are coming from but they tumble from his mouth and Freddie is panting, eyes blown, so they're obviously finding their mark. "Do you think they'd assume I'm punishing you?" He can't resist - he slaps Freddie's arse hard, still buried inside him, and Freddie all but whimpers.

"I don't think they'd be surprised," Brian murmurs, "I think they know you're a little slut. They might want a go though. Can't say I'd blame them."

" _Brian_ ," Freddie chokes out, and Brian spanks him again, kisses his name off Freddie's mouth. Freddie's hips are stuttering under his own, trying to press back to meet his thrusts.

Brian can give him what he wants. He grins down at Freddie and snaps his hips, sets up a new rhythm, fucks him faster and harder. The crack of his hand on Freddie's ass intersperses with Freddie's pitchy moans. Brian pulls out almost all the way and stops, just for a moment, his cock just catching on Freddie's hole. Then he slams back in and Freddie makes a noise bordering on a wail. Brian grins down at him, all teeth.

Before long Freddie begins to try to tug one of his hands free again. "Ah ah," Brian tells him scoldingly, and he sees for himself the shudder that goes through Freddie at the tone, at the fact that Brian is so completely in control.

Brian transfers his grip on Freddie's hands so that both of his slim wrists are gathered up in one of Brian's hands. With his free hand, he slides a hand down Freddie's chest and belly, to his cock. Freddie nearly arches himself clean off the piano when Brian wraps his fingers around it.

A few long, smooth pumps and Freddie comes, his thighs clenching around Brian's waist. He's thrown his head back, eyes squeezed shut, and Brian sees his handiwork all over Freddie's throat, evidence that Freddie is his. That does it for him; he comes moments after Freddie with a groan that can't be mistaken for anything other than Freddie's name.

For a long moment there's nothing but white-hot pleasure and the solid warmth of Freddie's body under him.

As some of his senses begin to return, a hand touches his cheek, cups his jaw to tug him closer. Freddie drags him in for a kiss.

Brian opens his eyes as they part; Freddie flops back down to lie back on the piano. He sucks in a long breath and then exhales. Brian sort of wants to stare at him forever, but now that he can think with his brain and not just his cock, he's hyper-aware that it was true when he said Roger or John could walk in at any moment, and he's also very aware that the first thing they would see is Brian's bare arse. He leans down and presses a kiss to Freddie's hip (eyes still closed, Freddie smiles lazily), and pulls out of him carefully.

Brian disposes of the condom and gets back into his own jeans. He eyes the door for a moment, glancing between it and Freddie, and decides to risk it; he makes a quick trip to the loos and comes back with tissues.

Freddie is leaning up on his elbows by the time Brian returns. "You look like you've been dragged through a hedge backwards," Brian tells him, because it's true, and Freddie grins.

"Or mauled by a bear, perhaps?" he asks innocently.

"Something like that." Brian brings the tissues over and begins to clean Freddie up. Freddie watches him, looking tired but content, and perhaps even slightly touched, as though he had expected to have to clean up after himself.

When he's wiped Freddie down as best he can, Brian picks up his discarded clothes and hands them to him. "Here you go. Before the others get an eyeful."

Freddie grins at him. "Oh, but what an eyeful," he declares, pulling the t-shirt over his head.

-

By the time Roger and John return, Brian has managed to convince himself that they'll know what has happened as soon as they walk into the studio; that John, with his sixth sense, will stand stock still and point at Brian and say, "You fucked him,"; that Roger will nod his agreement and add, "At last."

They don't. They come back full of excitement for a bassline John has come up with over their break which they think they can incorporate into the new song, and they're too eager to try it out to take much notice of Brian and Freddie at all. They seem to assume that the situation has been dealt with and that's that, which, Brian supposes, is as good a description as any.

"Fred, there's a piano bit just here, see - " says Deaky, thrusting a piece of paper at Freddie and gesturing towards the instrument.

Freddie takes the paper and glances at the piano, then looks directly at Brian. Brian ducks his head and feels, to his horror, his face turning bright red. When he glances up through his mane of curls, Freddie has seated himself at the piano, but he's still watching Brian. The smirk on his face gives far too much away, Brian just knows it, so he coughs hurriedly and distracts Deaky with questions about his new song.

-

Brian isn't entirely sure how they manage to last out the day, to be honest. He plays on autopilot and tries very hard not to think about Freddie. Or look at Freddie. Or get hard as he listens to Freddie croon out a high note. He fails at each and every one and the afternoon _drags_.

He goes home with Freddie when it's finally over and fucks him again at the foot of his (absurdly huge) bed. Freddie informs him with gleaming eyes that whilst it's far more comfortable for his back, he was really quite fond of Brian's impromptu piano use.

Afterwards, when they're curled up together with one of Brian's legs resting between Freddie's thighs and Freddie's head tucked onto Brian's chest, Brian remembers what it was he'd meant to say.

"About earlier," he says. It's not much as an opener, granted, but he gets absolutely nothing from Freddie in return. He knows he's not asleep, he's not breathing deeply enough, so he nudges him in the side. Freddie shifts a bit and swats at him lazily.

"Freddie," Brian murmurs. He slides a hand along Freddie's jaw, nudges his head up to face him. "Freddie, concentrate, this is important."

Freddie's eyes are half-closed, his face slack with contentment, but he opens then at Brian's words and makes an obvious effort to focus on him. The result - forehead furrowed, blinking hard as though Brian has just woken him from slumber - is incredibly endearing. Brian smiles, presses a quick kiss to Freddie's temple just because he can. Freddie turns his face into Brian's kiss, seeking more, but Brian tilts his head away to evade him.

"Listen," he says, amused, and Freddie huffs at him but settles down. "We need to talk about how this affects us. And the others."

"You always want to talk about things," Freddie complains, and Brian can't help but laugh.

"That's because I'm a fan of rational thinking, which is actually a thing, despite your own insistence on ignoring it," he retorts.

Freddie heaves a dramatic sigh. "Very well," he says, like a king granting his attention to his subject, "I'm listening."

Brian knows he isn't going to like what he has to say, so he re-adjusts the arm he has around Freddie's shoulders, stroking a hand down his back. "I'm not sure I should be the one to discipline you anymore," he says simply, and waits.

He doesn't have to wait long. Freddie's eyes had half closed again but they fly open and he worms his way out from under Brian's arm to sit up. "No," he says.

"Freddie - "

"No," Freddie repeats, insistent. "No, it has to be you." He tips his chin up and adds, "I won't let anyone else."

"You agreed to go along with it just like the rest of us did," Brian points out. He pitches his voice low, not wanting to argue. "You didn't agree that you could only specifically be disciplined by me."

Freddie glares at him. "This isn't fair, you can't just palm me off on Roger or John out of some misplaced worry that us having sex makes it weird for you to punish me if I'm out of line."

"To be fair, Fred, the point of the discipline system wasn't so that you could _enjoy_ being punished," Brian says, a hint of despair in his tone. "You outright admitted earlier that you've been acting up on purpose so that I'd spank you, because it turned you on."

Freddie is still glaring, but for once he doesn't seem to have a comeback. Brian reaches out and takes one of his hands, squeezes it between his own.

"Just think about it, please," he says gently. "Consider it. It's for the band, remember? I don't mean you have to make a decision for tomorrow, we can come up with an alternative to deal with what happened today."

"An alternative," repeats Freddie, suspicious.

Brian just squeezes his hand and looks at him expectantly.

Freddie looks down at their hands, then back up at Brian. "I'll consider it," he allows, a tad grumpily, but it's a win nevertheless.

Brian smiles. He lays back down and tugs Freddie down with him too, until Freddie is tucked into his side again. He reckons he can definitely get used to this.

-

Roger comes to him the next morning as they're setting up in the studio.

"Not that I'm not enjoying the peace and quiet," he says, "but what's with...?" He nods his head at the far corner of the studio.

Brian is fighting off a grin, but he's not sure he's having much success. "Oh, he's in time out," he says. He can just about see the back of Freddie's head over Roger's shoulder because the chair Brian has sat him in is facing the wall, but he can well enough imagine the expression on his face.

"Time out?" Roger repeats.

"Mmm. From yesterday, you know." Brian sincerely hopes that Roger doesn't ask any questions about what exactly happened yesterday, that he just assumes that this is part and parcel of whatever punishment Brian has doled out.

He's fortunate; Roger is eyeing him with speculation but no suspicion. "Have you actually succeeded in finding the worst possible punishment for Freddie Mercury to ever exist?" he wonders. "Sitting in a corner with only the wall to admire him?"

"I can hear you," Freddie says from his corner. It sounds like his teeth are gritted.

"I've brought pastries," John calls, just to pour a little salt in the wound.

"You're an absolute wonder, Deacon," Roger says cheerfully.

Brian follows him back to the table where John is putting down the paper bag of pastries. "Is it just me," John murmurs as they make their selection, "or can you literally feel the resentment oozing out of that corner?"

"Tangible, that is," Roger says through a mouthful of chocolate. "A proper Mercury level sulk."

This time Brian doesn't bother to try and hide his grin. He's rather proud of his time out idea, truth be told.


	5. Roger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No spanking in this one. Brian and Roger think up some alternative punishments and Roger makes a miscalculation...

Roger has two clear categories in his mind for storing embarrassing memories. There's 'things I will think about when I try to go to sleep tonight', the most commonly used category; this is where Roger keeps his everyday embarrassments. Then there's 'mortifying incidents I will never get over'. Life has been relatively kind; he doesn't have too many memories that he counts as properly, toe-curlingly humiliating. But he'd known as soon as it happened that his little freak out over Brian's knee was going straight in there.

He knows exactly what the others would say if he admitted this to them. John would assure him that he too felt that white hot sting of embarrassment and that if he hadn't been so shocked by what was happening, he'd have probably cried too. Freddie would tell him, affectionately, that he's being _absolutely ridiculous darling_ and that he should come and have a cuddle right away (and probably stage-whisper about Brian and his bony bloody knees). Brian would tell him yet again that it wasn't his fault and that they will work something out for him.

So far they have yet to work anything out, and Roger is determined to keep it that way. His behaviour has been nothing short of impeccable, thank you very much.

It's been up to Freddie to fly the flag for misbehaviour in the band and true to form he's being doing just great at that. Truth be told Roger was a bit concerned as to how he himself was going to react, the first time Freddie ended up back over Brian's knee following Roger's little meltdown. He didn't want to be the one who couldn't hack it, who couldn't even watch when it was happening to one of the others and not to him. But he's been fine so far, fingers crossed, which means all he has to do is keep on behaving, keep sticking to the rules, and the discipline system need never be a problem for him ever again. Simple.

Damn it, but Roger does love the thrill of breaking rules.

He approaches Brian about it, in the end. A fair few weeks have passed since the incident, and whilst Roger isn't _plotting_ to break any rules, he knows it's surely only a matter of time. If John-to-Freddie is a spectrum of deliberate misbehaviour, then he knows full well he falls nearer the Freddie end.

"Can we talk?" he asks, faux-casual, as they're getting ready to head to their respective homes after a decent session in the studio. They've made a lot of progress today and everyone's in a good mood. He figures it's as good a time as any to ask the question.

Brian glances at him, a hint of question in his eyes. "Of course. Now?"

"If you're free?"

Brian nods, waves Freddie and John off when they hover expectantly by the exit. They wander off and Roger shifts his weight from foot to foot, suddenly self-conscious. It's not a feeling he's particularly used to and he dislikes the way it prickles down his neck.

"Alright, Rog?" Brian asks.

He looks a bit concerned, so Roger nods quickly. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I just - " He pauses, then blows out a breath. Might as well get it over with. "I was wondering if we could have that chat about - about the system. And my alternatives."

The system. That's what they're calling it now, between themselves, like some kind of special code. Roger gets the distinct impression that Brian quite enjoys the mystery of it.

The concern in his face has cleared up. "Yeah, of course." Brian looks round at the chairs haphazardly piled up in the corner of the studios. "Shall we?"

Roger nods and follows him over to the chairs, sitting down when Brian pulls out one for him and nudges it towards him. "Thanks."

"You're happy to just talk to me about it?" Brian asks. "Without John and Freddie?"

Roger snorts. "How many helpful suggestions do you reckon either one of them could make?"

A smirk tugs at the corner of Brian's mouth. "Just checking."

Now they're ready to talk, Roger isn't at all sure what he wants to say. He'd assumed Brian would speak first, maybe suggest some ideas, but Brian seems to be waiting on him. He, unlike Roger, doesn't seem to feel awkward. Roger doesn't miss the irony in their role reversal.

"So, uh," he says eloquently.

Brian just looks at him, placid and waiting.

"You put Freddie in time out," Roger says. He hopes Brian can't see the pink tinge that colours his cheeks at those words.

Brian grins. "Yeah. I thought that worked pretty well."

Roger can't help but smile back, because it really had; Freddie had so clearly underestimated his punishment, apparently assuming that Brian would make him sit there for fifteen minutes or so. Brian had in fact left him there for most of the morning. Freddie had moved through various stages: he'd sulked, tried to distract them, taken to singing loudly to himself in the corner, and finally fallen quiet. By the time Brian had touched his shoulder and told him to come back and join them, Freddie had become so resigned to the punishment that he'd not even made the effort to make a witty retort. He had just followed Brian back to the rest of the band and done as he was bid for the next few hours, docile as anything. It was, Roger had to admit, pretty bloody impressive.

"So you'd be okay with that?" Brian asks, bringing Roger back to the present. He's hunted out the piece of paper on which he keeps his written list of the rules, resting it on his knee with his pen poised above it.

Roger sincerely hopes that Brian is being careful where he keeps that thing. He briefly imagines what would happen if it fell into the hands of the press then quickly decides he doesn't want to go there.

"I'd be okay with that," he confirms, watching as Brian writes it down. He feels a familiar stab of unease. "Bri..."

"Mmm?"

"Doesn't this go against the point of it?" he asks, though they've had this conversation before. "Freddie and John don't get to choose, surely it's not punishment if I can pick what I want and what I don't want - "

"The point isn't to upset you, Rog. That's all we're doing. Avoiding things which upset you and finding alternatives."

"You make it sound so simple," Roger grumbles.

Brian just laughs. "It is simple," he says. "And for what it's worth, you won't get to choose. We'll work out a selection of things you feel okay about trying, and then if necessary, I'll choose one." His mouth quirks. "You won't get to choose your favourite."

"Give me other alternatives then. Ones that don't make me feel like you're going easy on me," Roger challenges.

Brian eyes him consideringly. "Alright," he says. There's a beat as he thinks. Then he suddenly grins, which makes Roger frankly a little alarmed. "How about writing lines?"

Roger stares at him. He has a distinct sinking feeling. Roger stares at him. He hates writing and Brian knows it, hates how it makes his fingers cramp up far worse than a drumstick ever has. He's always been the one who whines the most about signing autographs for the fan club, and Brian definitely knows it. "You're an evil man, May," he says with feeling.

Brian is unrepentant. "Not a punishment if you can pick what you don't want," he reminds Roger, still grinning.

"I knew I was going to regret saying that the moment I said it," Roger mutters.

Brian is busy scribbling. Without looking up, he suggests, "How about a period of obedience?"

"I don't follow."

"Having to do as we say," Brian amends. "If you break a rule, your punishment could be that you have to do as we say for the next two hours, whether that's tidy up the studio, or go out and get us lunch, or do some admin. That sort of thing."

"As we say?" Roger repeats.

Brian shrugs. "One of us. It's easier if one person gives the orders, I suppose. It doesn't have to be me, though. It could be any of us."

Roger considers being under the command of Freddie Mercury for any length of time and tries not to visibly wince. He just nods instead. "Write it down."

Brian does. "Three alternatives already," he says, reading over what they've got so far. "Do you want anything else?"

Roger hesitates, then gives himself a metaphorical kick up the arse. He's been meaning to say this for a while. "Yeah, put spanking down."

Brian stills, looking over at him with an expression that is very clearly trying very hard not to be too assessing. "Roger - "

"Put it down," Roger insists. "I want another go. Well I don't want another go, but - you know. If needs be I want to give myself another chance and see what happens."

Brian is clearly reluctant. "I don't want you to feel pressured," he tries. "We have these alternatives so you don't have to put yourself through that again."

Roger leans forward and waits for Brian to meet his eyes. "Write it down, Brian, please," he says. He's pleased that his voice is steady.

Brian hesitates for one moment more, then gives in and writes it down. Roger straightens back up in his chair. Brian doesn't look happy, but he's listened to Roger, and he knows what Roger wants, and that's enough for now.

-

In hindsight, going out for 'a drink or two' with Freddie was never going to be a thing.

John had the common sense to decline the offer. John is wise, and kind, and all that is good in the world. Case in point: he's brought Roger a couple of painkillers and a glass of water, and he didn't even made a sly comment when he handed them over.

Roger wishes more people could be like John.

"You're an angel," he mumbles, gulping down the paracetamol.

John just nods his agreement.

Recording begins. And Roger tries, he truly does, to be something akin to a decent drummer, but it's exceptionally difficult when the loudest drumming seems to be in his own head. Freddie, damn him, seems absolutely fine; he's singing beautifully. Deaky and Brian's guitars are on top form. And then there's Roger.

He's very aware that he's letting the side down and he doesn't like it. He stalks out for a cig at the first chance he gets.

When he gets back, they've decided to move onto a different songs - one of Freddie's jazzy little numbers, with significantly less drums than the last one. On some level Roger is glad, because his head is killing, but it doesn't improve his mood to know that they've all heard him, winced, and decided that they're better off without him today.

His mood is a slippy slope from there. He has the grace to keep John out of it, because John's done nothing to warrant anything. He knows, technically, that neither have Freddie and Brian, but he's not feeling in the mood to be reasonable. Freddie is not hungover when Roger is, even though their night out was Freddie's idea, and therefore Roger takes a fancy to imagining it's Freddie's head he's giving the odd, unenthusiastic thack to with his drumstick.

Brian is annoying Roger simply by being all over Freddie when Roger is annoyed with Freddie. Roger chooses not to assess his own logic in that.

By the time they break for lunch, Roger's had enough. He announces that he's going out for some fresh air and slouches off. Being outside for a bit does him good, but it also hammers home just how tired he is. He'd sell his best pair of maraccas for a nap, if he still had them.

Why shouldn't he? He happens to know for a fact that there's a very comfortable looking sofa tucked away in one of the offices they sometimes use on the floor above the recording studio. Roger imagines how it would feel to nestle down in the cushions and shut his eyes just for a moment or two, and that seals the deal. A quick nap is just what he needs.

-

He wakes to John's face startlingly close to his and swears.

John takes a step back and straightens up from the obstrusive looming position he'd adopted. "Sorry," he says automatically, but then he sighs. "Oh, Rog."

Roger sits up, scrubbing a hand over his bleary eyes. "I was just closing my eyes for a bit," he says defensively.

"We thought as much."

He feels a bit better, he realises. His head isn't pounding quite so much. His throat feels dry but he supposes that's just from the fact that he's probably been snoring away for half an hour or so. He's still tired though, that bone-deep groggy kind of tired that you only get from napping in the day. "You didn't have to come looking for me."

John's eyebrows raise. "Didn't we?"

"It was just a power nap. I was coming straight back."

"Rog, it's nearly 5 o'clock," says John. "You've been gone for about four hours."

Oh, fuck.

"Four hours," he says blankly.

John is looking at him with something close to pity. "Yeah. We thought you were just having a bit of a sulk at first, you know, but then another hour passed and we started to get a bit worried."

"And after the worry?"

John flashes him a grim smile. He doesn't answer, but he doesn't have to; Roger can read his silence well enough. After the worry came the annoyance, and probably that damn list of rules to be analysed.

He's fairly sure that falling asleep mid-session and abandoning them for four hours without warning counts as disruptive.

"What did you do?"

"Worked on lyrics, mostly." John shakes his head. "We got a bit done, but we were... er, distracted."

By the impending punishment they all knew was coming. Roger puts his head in his hands and groans.

-

Freddie and Brian are deep in conversation when he and John make their way back to the studio, dark heads together. They both look up at the same time as the door swings shut behind Roger.

"The prodigal returns," remarks Freddie.

Roger can't be bothered to glare at him, and anyway, he supposes it's fair enough. "Sorry," he says, though he knows it's useless. "Fell asleep."

"Yes, we realised. Eventually. When we found you up there about two hours ago," Brian says evenly.

Roger blinks at him. "Two hours? Why didn't you wake me?"

"You looked like you needed the rest," Freddie says snidely.

Brian doesn't react to that, which Roger supposes means Freddie's telling the truth. God, he must have looked a mess if they'd found him and decided it was better to leave him conked out on an old sofa upstairs than have him down here with then.

"We've been discussing what to do about it," Brian continues. Roger forces himself to look, to meet Brian's eye, because as much as he wishes this wasn't happening he knows that he's been a bit of a shit all day and that's aside from falling asleep on them. "I explained to Freddie and John that we came up with some alternatives for you."

Roger tries not to blush. He's not sure how successful he is. He thinks back to that particular chat with Brian and suppresses the urge to groan when he thinks about his options. None of them look particularly rosy, tired as he is.

"I told them that you wanted spanking back on the list, but I don't think now is the right time for that," Brian says. Roger hopes he doesn't look too relieved. "We decided that lines are the best option for today." He indicates the table behind him, where they've already sourced everything he'll need - four or five sheets of paper and a pen.

Roger just nods, accepting the punishment. He knows they're being kind. Time out would have led to him falling asleep in the corner again, and he's not sure that he could have handled being made to follow someone's orders today.

"You can go up to that office, seeing as you like it so much up there," Brian says. He's all politeness and calm. Roger fidgets, reminded all too clearly of exactly how it felt to be about 14 and in trouble with his headmaster. "I think... oh, shall we say one hundred lines?"

So much for being kind. Roger's poor hand aches just thinking about it.

"We didn't decide on what to write, though. Any thoughts, Roger?" Brian gives him one of those looks he's so good at, the kind that make Roger want to confess to every crime he's ever committed.

"I will not blame Freddie for being better at handling alcohol than me," Freddie suggests.

"I will not swear in John's face when he kindly wakes me from my four hour nap," says Deaky, straight-faced.

"I will not get so hungover that it causes disruption to the band," Brian says. "You can write out thirty three of each, Roger, how does that sound? We'll let you off with the last one."

They're all looking at him, waiting for his answer. Roger looks from John (ever so slightly amused but trying to hide it for Roger's sake) to Freddie (blatantly amused and making no attempt to hide it) to Brian (piercing gaze of a headmaster twice his age, how does he _do_ that?).

"I can do that," Roger says meekly. He holds out his hands as Freddie bounds over with the writing materials and bundles them into his arms with a flourish.

"I might be gone by the time you're done," says John, "depending how fast a writer you are."

"We'll still be here, though," says Brian, indicating himself and Freddie with a nod of his head. "We're - um - "

"Trying out something new," says Freddie smoothly. "If it goes well you might even be able to hear it."

Brian, weirdly, is blushing. Roger gives him a funny look and turns to leave.

"Remember to dot every i and cross every t!" Freddie calls after him.

"Wanker," mutters Roger, just loud enough for Freddie to hear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! Ideas welcome as always!


	6. Brian

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AO3 user tartymoriarty returns having shunned real life responsibilities to write this.
> 
> Thank you to everyone for your ideas and suggestions, they really help! This chapter deals with a few things that have been prompted and is 'part one' of a double chapter of sorts.

They file back to their dressing room, unusually subdued.

Normally they're pumped up after a show, alcohol flowing, voices raised, all bouncy steps and congratulatory cheers. There's none of that today - Brian walks ahead alone in grim silence, John and Roger uncomfortable behind him, and Freddie trailing along in the rear.

It had started so innocently. One moment Freddie was at the front of the stage singing his heart out, arms flung wide and feet tapping out the rhythm of Roger's drum. Then he'd decided to have some fun, run around a bit - he'd kicked at a few amps, danced around Brian and John, pretended to whack at Roger's cymbal. Then, for reasons that presumably only make sense in Freddieland, he'd decided that it was a good idea, no, a fantastic idea, to shove over anything in sight that wasn't one of his bandmates or their instruments.

He'd set his sights on a huge speaker, easily twice as tall as Freddie and then some. He'd heaved and shoved at it, lost in the moment, until it teetered precariously on the edge, and then he'd turned his back, distracted by the crowd's shriek. He was too busy basking in their adoration to notice that the speaker wasn't tipping backwards, as he'd assumed, but forwards, onto him.

It was only Brian's hand knotting on the back of his shirt and dragging him out of the way just in time that stopped Freddie's fun from splitting his head open.

Brian had let go of his Red Special to grab him, and he was too on edge afterwards to pick up the remainder of the song. As the speaker crashed to the ground exactly where Freddie had been seconds before, Freddie had the gall to turn around and _grin_ at him. Like it was funny.

Brian had spent the rest of the show grimly imagining how sorry he was going to make Freddie for that bloody grin.

He's realised now that Brian's not in a laughing mood, at least. Brian walks into the dressing room and holds the door open for the other three. He slams it shut after Freddie.

None of the roadies are with them - Brian's made it very clear that anyone who isn't a member of _Queen_ is to fuck right off.

Brian turns to Freddie and gets right to the point.

"Take your fucking jeans off," he says flatly, "and get the fuck over my lap, now."

He hears the hitch in Freddie's breath and sees it on his face. He's still surprised, Brian realised. Still taken aback that Brian would be angry with him for putting himself in danger like that. It does nothing to help Brian's temper.

"I said now, unless you want to make it worse for yourself."

Roger is looking between them, visibly uncomfortable. "Brian - " he begins.

"I don't want to hear it," Brian cuts him off, not taking his eyes off Freddie. "He could have fucking killed himself and I don't want to hear it."

Freddie glances at Roger from beneath his lashes and there's something close to an appeal in his eyes, as though he's willing Roger to step in between them. That just pisses Brian off more.

He takes a step forward until they're almost touching. He's glad of his height; Freddie hesitates on the verge of stepping back before evidently deciding that it's less embarrassing to just tilt his head back to meet Brian's gaze. Up close, he can see the flush on Freddie's face, from the rush of the show and the roar of the crowd, from alcohol and god knows what else and, Brian hopes, from the knowledge of what is coming. Brian is not here to play games, not today. There's nothing about this that he intends to be fun for Freddie.

"If you don't take your jeans off, I will do it for you." There is no room for bargaining in Brian's voice.

He waits. Freddie makes no move to obey. He stares up at Brian like he can't quite believe this is happening, like he honestly didn't think Brian would mind him being so phenomenally fucking stupid, and maybe like he doesn't quite believe that Brian would do that. The idea of Freddie doubting him, calling his bluff, pushes him over the edge. Brian's temper has been at bubbling point for too long.

"Fine. I'll do it for you," he says coldly, and he grabs Freddie's wrists, one in each hand, to yank him forwards.

Freddie resists him instinctively, leaning back and digging his heels in. "Get off me, Brian!"

Brian lets him squirm and strain all he wants against Brian's hold; it's awkward, but he manages to get an arm around Freddie's waist which pins his arms to his sides. His other hand goes to the button of Freddie's jeans.

A hand settles unexpectedly on his elbow and Brian tenses up, ready to shake Roger off - but an irritated glance aside tells him that it's not Roger, it's John. John, who is looking at him without a hint of his usual gentle smile. His face is serious and it's enough to give Brian pauses. He stops, Freddie still squirming against his chest.

"We're not meant to act in anger, Brian," John says quietly.

Brian stares at him. The words cut through the sharp anger that has been flaring through him ever since he saw Freddie drag on that equipment, ever since he realised that Freddie was safe despite his best efforts.

He becomes aware, suddenly, that he can feel Freddie's heart pounding against him. He doesn't think it's from the show, or the alcohol, or giddiness.

"Oh, God," he says.

He lets Freddie go, his arms falling to his sides, and takes a step back. Freddie does the same, putting distance between them. Roger lays a hand on Freddie's arm and Brian knows it's meant to be comforting, he's reassuring Freddie, and then Freddie looks at Brian with wary eyes and Brian feels suddenly sick.

"Freddie - " he says, and he hears the tremor in his own voice. "Fuck, Freddie, I - "

"Come over here for a bit, Brian," John says. His hand is still on Brian's elbow; he tugs lightly and Brian goes with him, grateful for the guidance. "Sit down. I'll fetch you a glass of water, alright?"

Brian nods mutely. He sits and tries not to watch as Roger gives Freddie's arm a squeeze, but Freddie is still standing where Brian had left him and Brian can't look away from him for too long.

"I'm sorry, Fred," he says hoarsely, "I didn't mean to - sorry."

Freddie doesn't say anything but he nods. He looks uncertain. It's an alien expression on his face and Brian doesn't like it. He eyes Brian for a moment or two and then looks back at Roger, and it's there again, that appeal in his eyes. He wants Roger to help him. "What should I do?" he asks.

Roger looks momentarily confused before his expression clears up and he understands. Brian understands too and feels all the worse about it. Freddie knows and accepts that before Brian took it too far, all three of them were on board with Freddie being punished for his actions. Now the situation has been abruptly defused and Freddie is left unsure of where he stands.

"Uh," says Roger, and then clears his throat; he's not used to this. "Why don't you go and sit over there for a bit. Alright? In - in time out."

He sounds steady enough, if a little embarrassed. Freddie shoots him a grateful look and just nods his acceptance, then slinks over to the corner Roger had indicated. He pulls his chair around to face the wall so he's got his back to them, just like Brian had specified when he first told Freddie he was going to be put in time out. Brian's heart aches a bit.

John returns with his glass of water. He sets it down beside Brian and then goes to give Freddie one too. He gives Freddie's shoulder a quick squeeze while he's at it.

"Thank you," Brian says quietly. He's not just talking about the water. John pauses, glances at him, then gives a little nod of understanding.

The tension in the room slowly dissipates. Roger goes off to have a shower. John gets changed and then spends a while trying to tame his hair. Freddie stays quiet in his corner. Brian sits and thinks.

He knows what he's got to do.

Brian leans forward and touches John's knee to get his attention.

"What's going to happen next?" he asks.

John quirks an eyebrow at him. "Well I was going to have a drink and then head home and probably get some sleep."

Brian shakes his head. "Before that. What's going to happen with me, I mean."

John just stares at him. "Um. Well, you can have a drink and then go home too?" he suggests.

"Deaky," Brian groans. "I broke a rule."

"Oh." John wrinkles his nose. "Well, nearly. You didn't, though."

"I was going to," Brian states. "Before you stepped in."

"I did step in though, didn't I?"

"It can't be one rule for me and one for everyone else," says Brian.

John is fidgeting in his seat, clearly uncomfortable. "Well, I know, but you've been - well, you're the one in charge of us, so to speak, and we're glad of that, I think. Aren't we? I know I am, I think it helps to have a voice of authority, you know."

Brian leans forward. His hand returns to John's knee. "I need you to punish me," he implores. "You can't let me get away with that, John. I would've hurt him, I would've - " He breaks off, too ashamed to continue when he recalls how he'd grabbed Freddie, how angry he'd been. He wouldn't have known when to stop.

"Bri..."

"Please, Deaky."

John huffs. "Why me?"

"Because you've swallowed the rulebook," Brian says, and Deaky manages a slight smile at that. "And because Roger is finding his own ways to deal with it."

He knows John is going to give in, can see it in his face. He's right; John sighs and puts his drink down. "Fine."

Brian feels - not relieved, exactly, because there's instant trepidation at John's words, but something similar. Thankful to know that the system works fairly, he supposes. Glad to know that John will do this for him.

"Do you want to do it now, or...?"

Brian nods. "I think we should deal with it tonight, yes."

Roger comes wandering back into the dressing room with no top on and a towel slung around his neck. His hair is fluffy where he's dried it off. "Everything alright in here?" he asks, a little cautiously.

John nods. "Brian is going to be punished," he says with the air of a man is deeply reluctant but knows he has no choice. "For letting his temper get the better of him."

Freddie turns around in his chair at that. He looks tired now that the adrenaline has worn off but he's clearly startled by John's words.

"The system is for all of us," Brian reminds them all. "I'm not immune to it."

"I'm not doing it," Roger says quickly.

"You don't have to. I've already been nominated," John says wearily.

Brian risks a glance at Freddie and finds Freddie staring back at him, brow furrowed. He wonders if Freddie is having trouble marrying the concept of the two Brians together in his head; Brian who spanks him when he misbehaves and fucks him (they really need to find a way to tell the other two what's going on there) and who Freddie seems to rely on in some sense for a measure of authority, and Brian who is going to be punished himself. He offers Freddie a small smile. To his relief, Freddie smiles back.

"Right, then. Let's get it over with," says John.

Brian feels abruptly very nervous. He tries to hide it. Roger, sitting down next to Freddie, looks ever so slightly amused, so he supposes he isn't all that successful. He deliberately doesn't look at either of them.

John turns his chair round and spreads his legs. Brian stands and hesitates, one hand on his waistband, but John shakes his head. "Jeans on for the first offence," he reminds him.

Brian nods. He bends awkwardly over John's lap, less glad of his height now than he was when he was using it to tower over Freddie. He seems to be far too long to fit over John's knees, for all that John is trying to give him as much room as possible. It's not comfortable, but he settles into a position. He doesn't suppose the other three were all that comfortable when they ended up over his lap, either.

"Right," says John from above him. "Uh. Well. So, this is a thing which is happening."

Brian squeezes his eyes shut. He had not expected the most excruciating thing about this to be Deaky's attempts at small talk.

"I'm just going to get on with it," John decides. Brian isn't sure if he's talking to him or talking to Roger and Freddie. Either way he's glad of it.

When John smacks his hand down against Brian's ass, Brian jolts in surprise. That... hurt more than he was expecting. He shifts, trying to get more comfortable, but John smacks him again before he can settle. It catches him off guard and he gives a little grunt.

Perhaps it's because he's trying to get it over and done with as quickly as possible for his own sake, but Deaky is... surprisingly good at this. He alternates his slaps until Brian is wincing in anticipation of each, never sure where it's going to land or how hard it'll be when it does.

"You know why you're here," John says unexpectedly from above him. "I'm not going to go into all that. I'm just reminding you, alright?"

Brian nods, then remembers his voice. He clears his throat and agrees, "Alright," softly. He thinks of Freddie's wary face, thinks of his own temper and how angry he had been, how he would have dragged Freddie down over his lap without stopping to think about it. He actively wanted to hurt Freddie until he was sorry for what he had done and that's not meant to be the point of this, he knows that perfectly well. It's meant to be about resolving issues, not making them worse. Shame floods him again and he presses his face into John's knee.

John seems to know what he's doing. "Get out of your head, Brian," he says. Maybe it's Brian's position, but he sounds unusually commanding like that. "That's what this is about."

On 'this' he delivers a particularly hard smack to Brian's ass that has him whining.

"We're punishing you so you don't have to punish yourself," John continues. He waits for a while, letting Brian come to terms with that, then gives a final volley of spanks that Brian knows he is going to be feeling for a couple of days at least.

"It's over," John tells him. He doesn't move immediately and Brian is glad of the chance to compose himself a bit. He draws in a couple of shaky breaths.

It is, he discovers, quite difficult to focus on any lingering feelings of shame when his ass is on fire.

John's legs fidget under him and Brian gets the message. He climbs off John's lap, knowing it's easier that way - it's all very well for him to have the others sit on his knee, but he suspects it'll be somewhat harder for them to do the same to him.

When he straightens up, red-faced and perhaps a bit red-eyed too, he finds his three bandmates all looking at him with concern and something else that he takes a moment to recognise as affection.

"Feeling alright, Bri?" Roger asks him.

He nods. He looks at John and says, softly, "Thanks, Deaky."

John is nursing his hand, which looks quite sore itself. Given the state of his own ass, Brian isn't all that surprised. He gives Brian a faint smile anyway.

"And - I'm sorry." He's made the others say it, he knows he has to say it himself; he wants to say it himself, particularly to Freddie. "Fred, I'm sorry I treated you like that. It wasn't fair of me. Roger, I'm sorry I put you in an awkward position."

"I'll forgive you." Roger grins at him.

Brian looks at Freddie and sincerely hopes that Freddie will say the same.

"I still ought to be punished," Freddie says unexpectedly.

Brian blinks at him. Nobody says anything for a moment, but Brian registers John's eyebrows rising in the corner of his vision.

"Oh, I forgive you," Freddie adds, and Brian's shoulders slump slightly in relief. "But I mean what I say. I haven't been punished properly yet."

"You've been in time out," Roger points out.

Freddie shakes his head. "I was stupid. I know that. And I know it was dangerous of me, and in - normal situations you never would have just given me time out for something like that. So."

He looks at them all challengingly, like he's daring them to argue.

Brian can't argue. He still feels guilty for how he acted towards Freddie, but John has spanked the worst of it out of him. He knows Freddie must be harbouring similar feelings for his behaviour and he can't deny him the opportunity to overcome them by facing the consequences.

"Tomorrow?" he says, and Freddie's eyes flicker to him. "I think we've all dealt with quite a lot for today."

Freddie assesses him for a moment more, then nods his acceptance. Brian is glad. He's not sure he could have taken a sore hand as well as a sore ass. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two to this will follow soon. Thanks again to all who read/kudos/comment!


	7. Freddie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two: Freddie faces the music.

The thing is, they don't actually have plans to meet up the next day.

It's meant to be a day off. A well-earned rest. Brian had been imagining how his day would pan out; he was going to enjoy a long lie in and wake up late, heavy-limbed and drowsy from a really good sleep and content in the knowledge that he could have a day to himself to just enjoy the quiet and maybe finish his book.

He wakes up early instead with Freddie sprawled out next to him, managing to take up a lot more room than he should be physically capable of. He's still asleep, breathing deep and rhythmic. He looks sweet and soft like this, still in a way he never truly is when he's awake.

Brian watches him for a while, just because he can. He tries not to feel weird about it, but even when he tries to look away he finds his eyes drifting back to Freddie. He can't help it. He isn't 100% sure what exactly it is that he has with Freddie yet but he does know he doesn't want it to stop.

Looking at Freddie makes it difficult not to think about what happened yesterday, but Brian happens to be very skilled in the art of dwelling on things and digging deep into every store of angst he possibly can. There's no point trying to distract himself because it won't work. He gets up and goes to make himself some tea instead, and just lets himself think.

It's not that he had never expected to fall foul of the discipline system. He had never wanted to set himself above his bandmates, so to speak; he had no qualms about taking on a leadership role when that was clearly what the other three craved, but he'd always been determined that they would remain equal in the truest sense.

He hadn't really expected to get punished for losing his temper, though. That was more Roger's remit, or Freddie's. He still feels a stab of shame deep in his belly when he thinks about it, though he's grateful that John took on the mantle of helping him work through it.

He wonders if Freddie's insistence that he be punished too comes from a desire for atonement, or whether he thinks he's doing what the others want. He's fairly sure it's not just a case of Freddie wanting to get his kicks from a spanking; last night had felt more serious than that, and anyway, it's not like he and Freddie haven't played around like that in bed. Freddie has other ways of getting that from him now. It seems to be working well enough; the band discipline system feels like something different, a separate entity from the games he and Freddie play privately. If it didn't feel different, he'd be going to Roger or John and asking them to do the job today.

Still. Part of him does wish he could just tuck yesterday back into its box and label it as dealt with. He knows he can't, though; he's just going to have to get on with it.

He makes a fresh brew of tea and takes some into the bedroom, where he finds Freddie stirring, groggy and tousle-haired.

"Bri?"

"Morning. Tea for you on the side."

Freddie mumbles his thanks and flops back down into the pillows. Brian settles down next to him, legs stretched out on the duvet. Eventually Freddie pulls himself back up again and reaches for his tea, cupping the hot mug in his hands and taking a few small sips until he evidently feels more human.

After a while, Freddie gives him a sideways look. "Did we shag last night?"

Brian shakes his head. It's fairly rare for him to wake up in bed beside Freddie having done nothing but sleep, but neither of them had really been in the mood last night.

Freddie hums. "Thought it was odd that I couldn't remember."

Brian can't help but snort at that. "Oh, I'm flattered."

Freddie nudges him in the ribs. "You should be. You're very memorable," he tells Brian, a hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.

"I'm glad to hear it," Brian says dryly. "And don't look at me like that. We're not having sex."

Freddie actually pouts at him, but he doesn't push the topic. He comes closer, tucking himself into Brian's side. Brian glances down at Freddie's dark head at his shoulder and feels a pang in his chest. He knows himself well enough to recognise that he's deeply, deeply glad that he still has this, that he didn't succeed in pushing Freddie away yesterday when he lashed out like he did.

"You're doing it again," Freddie says without lifting his head.

"Doing what?"

Freddie lifts a hand from his mug and waves it around in a dispirited fashion. It's not all that enlightening.

"Do I really have to tell our lead singer to use his words?" Brian asks.

He can sense Freddie's eye roll. "You're doing your thing. Where you go off in your own head. And you think none of us notice but we all do. You also think we don't mind, because we don't care, but you're wrong about that as well."

Brian isn't entirely sure what to say to that. It's... uncomfortably accurate. He stays silent.

Freddie sits up and fixes Brian with the kind of look he gives dense journalists. "Brian, darling, can I give you some advice?"

"I have a feeling you're going to give it to me anyway," Brian mutters, but Freddie is undeterred.

"Stop over-thinking everything. Yesterday happened. I was stupid. I didn't pay for it, because you also did something stupid, and you ended up paying for your mistake first. And today it's my turn." Freddie leans forward a bit as if he sensed that Brian was about to look away. "And we will all handle it as we would handle any other situation where one of us did something dangerous. The three of you will decide upon a suitable punishment. And I'll accept it."

Brian looks back into Freddie's fierce face. Freddie's gaze is unrelenting.

After a moment, Brian gives in and sinks back into the pillows. "God, I hate it when you're right," he groans.

Freddie is climbing out of bed, but Brian hears his muttered retort as clearly as if he was still close up in Brian's face: "You really ought to be used to it by now, darling."

-

Brian ends up calling Roger and asking him to come over to Freddie's, because it seems like the easiest thing to do.

He knows as soon as the words leave his mouth that he's made a fundamental error in his wording. "Come over? Are you already there?" asks Roger.

He sounds suspicious. Brian tries not to stutter in response.

"I was up early," he says, and hopes for the best. He doesn't feel like he has space in his brain to cook up some quick and believable lie, and anyway, he would probably only end up sounding guilty.

"Right," says Roger. He doesn't mention it again, thank fuck. "I can be there in about an hour and a half?"

"Great. See you then." Brian hangs up and dials John's number next. This time, he's a bit more careful with his wording.

Brian has to let them in when they arrive because Freddie has taken himself off to feed the cats. Brian suspects he is also keeping out of the way but he leaves him to it. He can't blame him if he's come over a bit nervous.

Fortunately John arrives first, so Brian manages to not look too shifty by the time Roger turns up. They both look a bit tired. Brian supposes they've also missed out on the relaxing day off they'd no doubt planned.

There's no point waiting for Freddie to come back for the first part, at least. The sooner they decide on a punishment, the sooner this will all be sorted.

They sit down together and Brian looks at Roger and John. "What do you think?"

"He hates time out," Roger points out.

John shakes his head. "He does, but he already got that yesterday. He clearly didn't feel it was enough." He glances between his bandmates. "I think... there needs to be an element of the punishment fitting the crime, you know? And what Fred did was..."

"Serious." Brian nods. "And dangerous actions need to be punished more severely than silly or disruptive ones."

"What's the worst punishment one of us has got so far?" asks Roger.

They all fall quiet. Brian knows they're thinking the same thing. It had been Freddie, in that period where he fought Brian on every step. He had gone too far in a bad mood and genuinely upset John with a harsh comment and earned twenty smacks over Brian's lap.

Brian's thoughts drift back to the previous night, to the way the enormous speaker had teetered whilst Freddie showed off to the crowd. He imagines what could have happened, and imagines it too clearly; the sickening crack, the way Freddie would have crumpled. He thinks about how glad he would be to know that Freddie would think twice before doing something like that again.

"Forty," he says, and he hears Roger give a sharp little intake of breath. He looks at Roger and then at John and he knows what they can see; he can feel how his face has set, determined and serious. "He could have killed himself."

After a moment, John says quietly, "I agree."

They look at Roger. He's hesitating. Brian knows why, knows that part of Roger battles against doling out punishments he himself would struggle to accept, and knows too that Roger and Freddie's partners-in-crime relationship gives him reason to pause. But then he nods his head.

Brian releases a breath. "Alright," he says. "That's that, then." He doesn't really want to have to sit and wait, and he suspects it will be harder for Freddie to show himself if he has to do it of his own accord, so he raises his voice and calls for him. "Freddie? Come here, please."

About half a minute passes before Freddie appears in the doorway. He stops there and looks at them. He looks visibly nervous, which isn't an expression any of them are particularly used to seeing on him. Brian inwardly winces a bit at the knowledge that his nerves are entirely justified.

"Bit closer," Brian says, gently, and Freddie comes to him, sits himself down on the sofa a little distance away.

"We've talked about what to do," says Brian, "and we've come to a decision based on a few factors. I'm going to talk them over so you understand why we've chosen this, alright?"

Freddie just nods. He's studying the carpet as though the pattern is immensely interesting.

"We decided that the punishment needs to fit the crime, and you endangered yourself, so that warrants something more severe than you've been given previously."

"None of us want to have to peel you off the stage in bits, Fred," Roger adds.

"I'm going to spank you forty times," Brian says.

Freddie's head comes up and he meets Brian's gaze, clearly startled. Brian can't help the urge to put his hand on Freddie's thigh to soothe him. Neither Roger nor John comment.

"You could have been seriously hurt or worse by what you did last night," he says. It's as much a reminder for him as it is for Freddie; that is why they are doing this, that is why he is going to go through with this and make sure the lesson sticks. "So this is our way of giving you something to think about the next time you get an urge to put yourself in harm's way."

He sees Freddie swallow. He flicks a glance over to John and Roger but they're sitting quiet, supporting Brian with their compliance.

There's little use in delaying things. Brian lets go of Freddie and moves along the sofa to give himself more room, spreading his legs wide. He looks at Freddie. "You know the drill," he says. He's pleased by how calm he sounds. "Jeans off and over my lap, Fred."

Freddie stands up and unbuttons his jeans, his movements robotic. He's not rushing but he's not resisting either. Brian can tell he's still thrown by the punishment, wrongfooted; he thinks it's probably a good thing. Regardless of what happened last night, regardless of Brian's own mistake or the fact that the speaker incident was a near-miss in the end, Freddie needs to understand that his bandmates won't accept that behaviour again.

He wriggles out of his jeans and toes them aside, leaving his underwear on until he's ready to bend over Brian's lap. Brian lets him, gives him time. As Freddie leans over and settles his weight across Brian's knees, Brian can feel how warm he is through the denim of his own jeans. He puts a hand on the small of Freddie's back to centre him and takes a moment to just look at him.

The thing about Freddie is that he's so much smaller than people think he is, smaller than it seems like he _should_ be. Brian has become intimately acquainted with many things about Freddie's body over the past few weeks, and even he is sometimes still surprised when he sees just how much Freddie has to tilt his head to look up at him, or feels how slender his hips are. All that presence on stage, that beautiful, powerful voice. Freddie's body doesn't seem big enough to contain it.

Freddie seems to have settled, his body draped securely enough over Brian's lap. Brian gives himself a moment to soak up the relief he feels at having Freddie safely here, rather than in a hospital bed. Then he thinks about Freddie's behaviour at the concert again, the grin he'd shot him, and he steels himself.

He doesn't hold back when he brings his hand down on Freddie's ass and the crack is almost shockingly loud. He doesn't talk, but settles into a rhythm. He has time enough for lecturing later; they're in this for the long haul.

He spanks Freddie steadily, watching as his hand leaves red prints against Freddie's smooth skin. He's glad of them - it shows him the places he's paid attention to and the places he's missed. It also gives him a certain sense of grim satisfaction when he thinks about how Freddie is going to have to avoid sleeping on his back for the next few days, and how his red ass should definitely serve as a reminder the next time he takes it into his head to do something stupid.

He breaks his rhythm to deliver two sharp slaps to the undersides of Freddie's thighs and Freddie makes a noise for the first time, a little whimper escaping.

Brian pauses. He's been counting in his head and wonders if Freddie has to. They aren't halfway yet.

He glances at Roger and John. They're both watching, silent.

"Tell us why you're here, Fred," Brian commands.

Freddie takes a moment to find his voice; Brian gets the impression he's been gritting his teeth against the onslaught. "Because I put myself in danger."

"Correct." Brian spanks his thigh again, the same place that made him whimper, and Freddie hisses, tries to jerk away from it. Brian's other hand returns to Freddie's back to keep him still and he delivers another slap to the other thigh. He feels the strain in Freddie's body as he fights the urge to try to get away. "And why are you being punished for that?"

"Because I put myself in danger," says Freddie again, the tiniest hint of defiance in his voice, because sometimes he just can't seem to help himself.

Brian spanks him three times in quick succession right on the curve of his ass. Freddie can't hold back a groan.

"Answer me properly. Why was that a bad thing to do?"

He rests a hand on Freddie's ass as he waits for the appropriate response. He can feel the heat radiating from him. Freddie wriggles a bit under his touch.

"Because... it's not fair on you and Rog and Deaky."

"No, it's not." Brian slaps him right over a handprint. "And?" Another spank, sharp and loud, before Freddie has time to answer.

"And - fuck!"

"Mm, not quite. Why else, Freddie?"

"Because... it would've ruined the show for the fans?"

"It would have, yes," Brian says calmly. "Any other reasons?"

He moves his hand away to flex his fingers a bit, trying to work the sting out. He can tell Freddie is unnerved by the lack of strikes; he tries to look over his shoulder. Brian swats him for it and Freddie drops his head with a muttered curse, breathing hard.

"Damage," he says. His voice a bit muffled - when he dropped his head he let it fall further than he had before, and now his face is pressed more closely against Brian's leg. "To other people's property."

"Yes. Something else we don't like." Brian spanks his thighs again because that seemed to work well before. He's right; Freddie whines at him, his fists clenching in the material of Brian's jeans. "Give me one more reason, Freddie."

Freddie doesn't answer and Brian slaps his ass again, hard. "Another reason, please."

"I don't know!" Freddie bursts out, frantic and frustrated; he bucks a bit under Brian's palm and Brian pins him down more firmly.

"I'll tell you, then," Brian says, and he really lets loose now, bringing his hand down harder and faster until his voice is nearly drowned out by the slaps and Freddie's shouts of pain, "you shouldn't have done it because it wasn't fair on us, you were right about that, because we care for you too much to see you hurt yourself. And yes, it would've ruined the show for the fans, the show they've paid for and looked forward to, all because you were a bit drunk and stupid with it." Freddie's ass is burning hot under his hand and Brian's hand aches, but he doesn't stop, delivering smack after smack and getting closer all the time to the final one. "Yes, you were irresponsible with someone else's property and now you'll pay for the damages. Here's the other reason, Freddie; you should be more careful with yourself, for your own sake, because you're an adult responsible for your own actions."

Freddie's yelping quietens, turns into a whimper, before he goes quiet abruptly as though he's jammed his lips tightly shut. It does little good; Brian can see the way his shoulders are flexing, shaking a bit, and feels the way Freddie's hands have tightened even more in their death grip on Brian's legs. He glances at Roger and John and knows they've made the same connection he has.

Roger gets up and comes to sit beside Brian, near Freddie's head. He places his hand between Freddie's shoulder blades and Freddie jolts slightly in surprise.

"You can cry, Fred, it's alright," he tells him softly.

Freddie remains stubbornly silent, though his shoulders are still trembling.

Brian looks down at him. With his knees pressed against Freddie's chest and stomach he can feel the way his body is convulsing with the effort to stop crying. Brian sighs.

He blows on his hand, then delivers the final, fortieth smack hard and true right in the centre of Freddie's ass. It's all it takes - Freddie sucks in sharp gasp of pain and then the tears spill over until he's sobbing over Brian's lap.

Roger rubs his hand soothingly along Freddie's shoulders. Brian's hand returns to the small of Freddie's back, but comforting now rather than restraining.

"We're all done now, Freddie," he says quietly. "It's over. You did well."

Brian lets him cry himself out. Freddie makes no move to get up so Brian doesn't rush him. John gets up and disappears for a moment, then comes back with a pot of something.

"I brought some salve," he says in an undertone by way of explanation, and Brian shoots him a grateful look.

Eventually, Freddie's sobs slow down and he quietens, limp and exhausted over Brian's lap. Brian strokes his back. "Do you want to get up?"

Freddie doesn't answer but begins to get up of his own accord. Brian takes him by the waist to help him, guiding him to stand rather than to sit. Judging by the colour of Freddie's ass, he's not going to want to sit down for quite some time.

His heart squeezes when Freddie looks at him; his face is tear stained, his eyelashes are wet, and he's blinking hard as though afraid more tears will fall.

Brian pulls him closer and wraps his arms around him. Freddie all but melts into his embrace. Brian can hear his hitching little breaths when he tucks his face into Brian's neck; he brings a hand up and strokes at Freddie's hair, trying to soothe Freddie with every bit of him.

"You did well," he repeats softly. "All done now. You did really well, Freddie."

He lets Freddie cling to him for as long as he wants. When Freddie eventually pulls back, he scrubs at his eyes and then makes a weak effort to pull his pants back up, hissing when his hand brushes his own ass.

John holds the salve out. "For you," he says.

"Thanks, Deaky," Freddie murmurs. His voice is a quiet little thing, tired and hoarse. "And sorry. For - for doing what I did. Putting myself in danger."

"We care about you, Fred," John says simply. "Don't forget that."

Freddie gives a little nod. He looks to Roger, who gives him a reassuring smile as soon as their eyes meet. "Sorry, Rog."

When Freddie's eyes meet his own and a soft apology comes his way, Brian has to push down a sudden and specific urge to pick him up and take him back to bed, lie him on his front, stroke his hair, fuss over him with cups of tea. He doesn't, but he does give in to the urge to fuss.

He encourages Freddie to lie back down, on the sofa this time, and takes his time rubbing the salve into Freddie's overheated skin. John turns the television on and finds something to put on as background noise, a low buzz to chase away last lingering bits of tension.

Freddie falls asleep before long, wrung out. Roger ends up with Freddie's head on his lap and seems perfectly content to just idly play with Freddie's hair. Brian thinks he'll doze off too before long.

Brian might just join him. He had planned a lazy day, after all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever thanks for all kudos and comments! Feel free to keep sending ideas my way!


	8. Roger & Freddie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this with an absolute blazing hangover and it's still got me, pray for tartymoriarty

The thing about being in a band with Brian May is this: you have to get used to the fact that his hair can and will invade any semblance of personal space. Roger has long since accepted this. He is privately convinced that Brian's hair is a living creature separate from the man himself, and thinks it is probably on a mission for world domination.

So when Brian's birthday comes around and Deaky gifts him with a paddle hairbrush that he's had engraved with Brian's initials, Roger laughs along with the others. They always try to outdo each other with presents, the weirder the better, and an engraved bloody hairbrush is such a typically Deaky move that he and Freddie are happy to concede defeat.

Until, that is, Deaky adds:

"I thought your hand might thank you for it, too."

Brian looks at him, turning the hairbrush over in his hands. A slow grin builds on his face.

Roger looks at Freddie. Freddie's grin, by comparison, has abruptly vanished.

"Thanks, Deaky," Brian says. He slaps the brush against one of his own hands, testing it; the resulting _thwack_ fills the room. Freddie jumps. "Very thoughtful of you."

"Traitor," says Roger. Deaky just hums serenely.

"Now now," says Brian. "If everyone just behaves themselves, there'll be no reason to use it, will there?"

He's still grinning. Roger wonders if he's actually hoping that someone is going to break a rule just so he can try his new toy. He makes a mental note to stay on Brian's good side, and never go near him when his hair looks like it's in need of a brush.

-

Brian, naturally, insists that the brush be worked into their rules. He considers the brush acting as a penalty for repeat offences in breaking the same rule, which makes Freddie (who has already been spanked at least four times for being disruptive) look slightly nervous. In the end, they decide that the brush will be used at the discretion of the rest of the band, rather than tying it to a specific rule or number of misdeeds.

Nobody is surprised when Freddie is the first to earn it. Freddie acts like he doesn't really care when Brian tells him they've decided to use the brush, but he can't hold back a yelp of pain when Brian brings it down on his ass. Roger very quickly decides that he has no particular interest in learning what that feels like.

Freddie tells him anyway, later on when they're alone in the studio. Brian and John have already left and Freddie has been complaining about the brush for the past ten minutes.

"Don't let Brian hear you moaning about it," Roger says, "or he'll be using it every time."

Freddie pulls a face. "Ugh. I might actually have to start behaving if he does that."

"I think I just saw a pig fly past the window," Roger says, deadpan.

"Oh, shut up." Freddie heaves a dramatic sigh. "It's behave or face the dreaded brush."

"Or chuck the brush out of the window," Roger suggests idly.

Freddie turns to him, a decidedly evil look in his eye.

"Oh, no," says Roger.

-

They don't chuck the brush out of the window. They do however decide to hide it.

It's a brilliant hiding place, too; Roger's idea. He's very proud of it.

In hindsight, he's not entirely sure what he and Fred thought would come of this. They just have this effect on each other sometimes, where they can't help but egg each other on. They giggle together as they take the brush from its cupboard and hide it, imagining Brian's confusion when he goes to look for it and his face when he realises where they've put it.

Brian doesn't look for it for a while, though; a week passes and he makes no mention of it. Roger sort of forgets about it, to be honest.

Then London wakes to stormy grey skies and ominously heavy clouds for the first time in a while. Roger thinks nothing of it, at first. They've been lucky with the weather so far this year; they're due a bit of rain. He grabs his umbrella for the short journey between his front door and the car and makes it to the studio without incident.

He's just on time. John and Freddie are already there, but there's no sign of Brian. It's unlike him to be late, but nobody really minds because of that. They know that if Brian is late there must be good reason.

That reason turns out to be the weather. Brian comes in about fifteen minutes later, pulling his hood down to reveal his disgruntled face. Roger's eyes go straight to Brian's hair. It's puffing out madly in every direction like the curls have spawned and reproduced overnight.

"Er," says Freddie.

"It's the bloody rain," Brian complains, combing his fingers through his mane (or trying to). "It always does this, I had to double back and grab something with a hood but in the meantime my hair got soaked." He shakes his head like a dog and the curls somehow manage to spring out even more.

"That's impressive," says Deaky.

"Oh, shut up," Brian says without heat. "Just fetch me that brush, will you?"

It takes Roger a moment to register. He's too busy staring at Brian's hair in fascination. As John turns and heads over to the cupboard in the corner, the words get through to him with a jolt.

Oh, shit.

He glances at Freddie. Fred is very carefully not looking at him, turning instead to the sheaf of papers on top of the piano and picking them up to flick through them. Roger copies his example and goes over to his drums, though there's little to do when he gets there. He doesn't exactly want to draw attention to himself by starting to play. He sits down and pretends to clean one of his drumsticks instead.

"It's not here," John calls from the cupboard. "Are you sure this is where you left it?"

Roger risks a glance up. Brian seems to be attempting to wring one of his curls out. Roger watches a few splatters hit the floor by Brian's feet.

"It's definitely there," Brian says, distracted, "I didn't want any of the studio staff tidying it away."

John straightens up and turns back to face Brian, holding his empty hands up. "It's really not, Bri."

Brian lets go of his hair and sighs, walking over to the cupboard himself. As he bends down and rummages through the cupboard, Roger looks at Freddie again and finds Freddie glancing back at him. In that brief second of eye contact Roger feels a sudden, terrible urge to laugh. He can see it mirrored back at him in Freddie's face. He ducks his head quickly, clenching his jaw and trying his best to think of the least funny things in the world.

"I definitely left it here," Brian is muttering from the cupboard. He begins to take items out so he can search it properly, groping into the corners, then makes a frustrated noise when the hairbrush still fails to show itself. He starts muttering to himself again as he piles the items back inside. Roger can't catch what he's saying, but the sudden silence when he stops is very noticeable.

It's a rather ominous silence, actually.

Brian stands up, then turns slowly and looks at Freddie. He's leaning against the piano still, apparently absorbed in his lyric papers.

"Freddie," says Brian, "I don't suppose you know where my hairbrush is?"

"Wherever you left it, darling," Freddie says without looking up. Roger's got to give it to him; he sounds perfectly casual.

"Right. I left it in the cupboard, you see, and it's gone," Brian says.

Freddie glances up at him. His face is a mask of innocence. "Maybe somebody borrowed it and forgot to put it back," he suggests.

"Maybe," says Brian. He's eyeing Freddie like he can't quite weigh him up.

The urge to laugh is building. _Think unfunny thoughts, think unfunny thoughts, think unfunny thoughts_ , Roger chants silently to himself.

"I'm sure somebody else has a brush you can borrow," Freddie says peaceably.

"Mmm. It's just that that was our brush for other purposes too, wasn't it? I'd be quite keen to get it back," Brian states. He sounds like he's trying very hard to match Freddie's casual tone but he isn't quite as good at it.

"Oh, I'm sure we won't be needing that any time soon," Freddie says sweetly. He's veering into dangerous territory, here; Brian is beginning to frown.

"I'm going to ask you this once, Fred, and once only," he says. "Did you take that brush?"

Freddie looks up at him like butter wouldn't melt. As he opens his mouth to deny it, Roger sneaks a glance at Brian.

It crosses Roger's mind that Brian looks like some kind of overgrown damp poodle, standing there looking suspicious with his hair still puffed out around his head. That thought finishes him off; before he can stop it a muffled snort of laughter escapes. He claps a hand over his mouth, but it's no use. He starts laughing helplessly and once he starts he just can't stop.

In his peripheral vision he sees Brian turn his head towards him, John mirroring the action from a short distance away. It makes no difference; he just keeps on laughing.

When he finally manages to draw enough breath to wrestle back some form of control, he lets out a huge sigh of mirth and finally looks at Freddie. Freddie is staring at him with an expression of utmost betrayal.

The sight just sets Roger off again. He collapses in helpless giggles over his drums.

Brian appears to be content to wait him out. He doesn't say anything until Roger's lifted his head again, teary-eyed from laughter. He doesn't even sober up when Brian fixes him with a look that says he's really in for it now.

"Nice of you to join us again, Rog," Brian says calmly.

Roger wipes at his eyes and declines to answer. Freddie is still glaring at him for giving the game away, but his glare soon vanishes when Brian apparently decides that he's the easier target because he's closer. Brian makes a grab for him and Freddie makes a noise that can only be described as a shriek, dodging out of his way.

"Freddie, get back here!"

"No, your hair will drip on me!"

"Get back here now or I swear - "

They're circling the piano, Brian making the odd lunge and Freddie dancing out of his way. Freddie is grinning like a mad thing now, enjoying the chase.

Roger starts laughing again, which has the unfortunate side effect of drawing everyone's attention again. Brian makes use of Freddie's distraction to make another grab for him, but Freddie darts out from behind the piano and runs straight at Roger instead.

"Don't come over here!" Roger yelps, but it's too late; Freddie is clambering onto the drum risers and all but flings himself behind Roger.

Stuck quite literally between Brian and Freddie, Roger quickly stops laughing. Freddie is hiding behind him. He suddenly feels rather like a human shield, or perhaps a sacrifice.

Brian advances on them. Roger swallows.

Brian stops just in front of them and considers them. He's wearing that headmaster look again. With Freddie clinging to him from behind, Roger is reminded very vividly of what it feels like to be a teenager in trouble.

"So," says Brian.

Roger glances at Deaky. Deaky gives him a look that very clearly says, 'Don't expect me to help you.'

"So," agrees Roger, because that seems safe enough. Freddie sniggers into his shoulder.

"I take it the brush stealing was a joint effort?" Brian questions.

Oh, hell. It's not like he can argue his way out of this. "It may have been," Roger says.

"It may have been," Brian repeats. "Right. Well. Care to share where you hid it?"

He still looks like a wet poodle. Roger closes his eyes for a brief moment to fight back the wave of hysteria that thought produces.

When he opens them, Brian is staring at him expectantly. Roger can't tell him where he and Freddie left the brush. He just can't.

Freddie has no such qualms, it seems. He lifts a hand above Roger's shoulder and points a single finger upwards, slowly, whistling as he does. Brian's eyes follow his finger up to the ceiling fan. The brush is perched jauntily on the edge of one of the fan's blades.

There's a moment of silence. Then Deaky says, "Wow."

"I know!" says Freddie, delighted.

Brian is still staring at the fan.

"How did you - actually, you know what, I don't want to know," says Deaky.

Freddie sighs. "Some people just don't appreciate genius."

"Genius," repeats Brian. He drags his gaze down from the fan and lifts an eyebrow at the two of them. "Well, seeing as the four of us are all here, we might as well discuss punishment, don't you think?" Without taking his eyes off them, he calls to John. "What do you think, Deaky?"

"Well, we would've been already working by now if they hadn't decided to nick the brush..."

Brian nods. "Disruptive," he says.

"Claiming not to know where it was when they obviously did," John continues idly.

"Lying," agrees Brian.

"I'd like to point out that I never actually claimed I didn't know where it was," Roger states, "just for the record."

Brian ignores him. "Anything else, Deaky?"

Deaky shrugs. "Well, I'm guessing they hid it to try and stop you using it, which... goes against the whole point of the system, really."

"Mm, it does. So that's causing disruption, lying and trying to evade punishment. Three rules in one, well done, both of you." Brian looks at Freddie. "You know, Fred, I didn't realise you enjoyed being spanked with the brush so much. You could just have asked nicely if you wanted another go." Roger senses Freddie's wince behind him.

"And Rog," Brian continues, "seeing as you're such a fan of writing lines, maybe we should try an extra hundred this time?"

"No," says Roger.

Brian's eyebrows inch up further, but Roger ploughs on before he gets the wrong idea. "No to lines. I should get the same as Fred, we did it together."

His face feels very hot but he tips his chin up, determined. He's not going to sit in a corner and write lines whilst he listens to Freddie get spanked with the bloody hairbrush. He hasn't been over Brian's knee since that first time, and every time he's done something to earn a punishment since he's tried to work up the courage to tell Brian to try it again.

The knowledge that he and Freddie are both to be punished makes that a bit easier, somehow. He's not alone in this.

"We've been over this, Roger, you know you don't have to - "

"I know," says Roger. "I can't - I know it might not work, but I don't want to get special treatment. I want you to at least try."

Behind him, Freddie touches his back gently. He doesn't say anything, but the reassurance is there.

Brian sighs. "Alright. Fine. We'll try. But not with the brush." Roger opens his mouth to argue but Brian shakes his head. "See how we go with my hand first."

"But Fred - "

"Darling, Brian is right." Freddie comes out from behind him, taking his hand and giving it a quick squeeze. "You don't have to take on any more than you already are."

Roger glances at him, then at John, then at Brian. "Alright," he mutters.

Brian nods. "Right." He appraises them, then says, "I think it's better to punish you both at the same time, so that no-one is left waiting. So that means I'll do one, and Deaky can do the other. Are you alright with that, Deaky?"

John steps forward so that he's by Brian's side and nods in confirmation.

"You take Freddie, then," Brian continues. Beside Roger, Freddie shifts his weight from foot to foot, looking unhappy, but he doesn't argue. "Roger, I'll take you. Considering you'll be using the brush, and the fact that this hasn't happened before, shall we say five each?"

John takes off his shoe and lobs it at the fan. The brush and shoe tumble to the ground between them. "Sounds fair to me," he says, picking it up.

"Good." Brian pulls over two chairs and positions them a short distance away from each other. "Come here, Roger."

With Brian standing there waiting for him, Roger suddenly feels about ten times more nervous. He walks towards Brian as Freddie walks towards John. He keeps an eye on Freddie as Brian sits down, reminding himself that they're in it together. Freddie seems hesitant, not used to John taking Brian's place, and it's not that Roger is glad for his nerves, but it does make him feel a little better about his own.

"Over my lap, then," says Brian.

Roger does as he's told. His fingers fumble at his waistband as he pulls his trousers down but he makes himself do it and bends over Brian's knees before he can allow himself to think too much about it. It's very hard not to think about last time, about the panic which had coursed through him. Brian settles a hand on his back and keeps it there and Roger focuses on that, anchoring himself to that feeling.

"I won't start until you're ready," Brian tells him.

Roger gives a little nod. All he can see is the floor, but he hears the telltale _thwack_ from a short distance away and Freddie's resulting yelp. Roger steels himself. He can do this.

"Ready," he says in a muffled voice.

"Alright," comes Brian's answer, and almost straight away there's a sharp smack to his ass.

Roger hears the noise before he feels the pain, but then he winces into Brian's knee. He'd been so wrapped up in the embarrassment of the spankings that he'd forgotten the intensity of the sting.

Brian spanks him again, the slap ringing out in unison with another strike from the hairbrush. Freddie is going through this, he reminds himself, right here, in the same room. He's not laughing at Freddie, and Freddie's not laughing at him; Brian isn't judging him just like John isn't judging Freddie. The knot in Roger's belly eases a little.

He sucks in a deep breath as Brian delivers the third smack near the top of his thighs. Brian pauses, but Roger says, "I'm fine," and Brian spanks him again.

He's half-waiting for Brian to begin lecturing him, but he doesn't, for which Roger is grateful. He's cautiously proud of how he's holding out; taking things one step at a time seems to be the right way forward.

Brian slaps his ass for the final, fifth time and then lays his hand on Roger's back again. "All done," he says.

Roger releases a shaky breath. He concentrates on the feel of Brian's hand on his back again, though it's harder now that his ass is stinging.

John and Freddie seem to have finished too; he can hear John murmuring vaguely to Freddie. When Brian puts his hands on Roger's waist to help him up, Roger catches a brief glimpse of them - one of John's arms wrapped around Fred, the other carding through his hair - before he's pulled into Brian's arms.

"You did really well," Brian tells him sincerely. Roger just gives a little nod, glad of the chance to hide his face in Brian's shoulder. Brian lets him, his hand moving in soothing circles against Roger's back.

"Sorry," Roger says after a while. "For - you know. Being a little shit."

Brian laughs softly. "I'm not so sure you can help that, but I forgive you anyway." When Roger makes to stand up, Brian gives him one last little squeeze. "Don't steal my stuff again," he says, but Roger could swear there's amusement in his tone. 


	9. John

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back, this time without a hangover, god bless 
> 
> I find Deaky supremely hard to write so hopefully this chapter is alright... let me know!

There’s something to be said for being ‘the quiet one’ in a band, but sometimes, it can get Very Very Very Annoying when your bandmates act surprised when you have an _opinion_ and you’re not afraid to voice it.

John has no idea why the others are still surprised when he speaks out about something. It’s not like he never does it. If he feels strongly, he’ll say so.

To be fair, it’s not really ‘the others’. Roger doesn’t agree with what John has to say about the backing track on the song they’re working on, but he’s argued with him on it just like he’d argue with Freddie – frustrated, but fully aware that John is capable of standing his ground. Freddie doesn’t agree with either of them (surprise surprise) and had no qualms about telling them so, but there’s little difference in the way he bickers with Roger and John.

No, it’s Brian who had given John a look of outright surprise when he opened his mouth and bluntly told them they’re all wrong, and _that_ is what is pissing him off the most.

“I’m not sure you’re really _listening_ ,” Brian begins, pitching his voice in that specific way he has – like he’s talking to someone who isn’t quite clever enough to grasp what he’s getting at.

John has had enough. “You don’t have to patronise me, Bri, I do actually know what I’m talking about,” he snaps. “It’s not like it’s been Brian May and the Three Stooges for the past however-many years.”

Brian blinks at him. “That’s not what I – “

“It’s not what you said, no, but it’s what you’re getting at.” John’s on a roll now. That’s the thing with his temper. Given a reason Roger will blow up at the drop of a hat, Freddie will find anything to kick off at when he’s in a mood, and Brian is the king of passive aggressive. John doesn’t get angry nearly as often, but when he does, he simmers until he reaches a boiling point that he can’t back down from. “It’s not actually the case of _Brian knows best_ every single time, I hate to break it to you, but it’s the truth. I’m entitled to my opinion and my opinion is that you’re being too pigheaded to realise that the three of us might actually have something worth contributing to this fucking song.”

A ringing silence meets his words. Roger and Freddie glance at each other, then at Brian.

John doesn’t take his eyes off Brian. He’s fed up of being sidelined. It’s not going to happen now.

There’s a look on Brian’s face that he can’t quite identify, but at least he’s no longer wearing the condescending expression that had tipped John over the edge. His mouth works as though he’s got something to say but is biting it back, and John raises an eyebrow, silently daring him to come out with it. 

Brian doesn’t; Freddie stands up and spreads his hands in a placating gesture. “I think we could all do with a little break,” he announces. “Don’t you think? We’re getting absolutely nowhere with this, and frankly I’m sick of the sight of you all.” The little smile he flashes undercuts the barb. Freddie is good at doing that; John finds himself relaxing, just a bit. It’s as though Freddie has stuck a pin in a balloon before it can burst.

John gives a stiff little nod and looks away from Brian. His heart is beating fast and he feels on edge. He doesn’t like it, doesn’t like how aggression feels in his body. He breathes out slowly, hoping it’ll fade.

Roger stands and stretches. He takes a cigarette from the packet on the table and pops it behind his ear, then says, “I’ll get drinks. Deaky, you coming?”

His hand claps John’s shoulder. John looks at him and feels a surge of gratefulness to both of them for their swift defusing of the situation, even though neither of them have got their own way.

Yet, anyway. John feels very aware that no compromise has been reached.

He doesn’t want the afternoon to go the same way as the morning, arguments without solutions, but maybe breaking it up for a bit will help them all. He goes with Roger and busies himself getting drinks for all of them. Freddie takes Brian’s to him before John can, which he’s secretly glad of. He knows it’s petty, but he doesn’t feel ready to brush it all under the carpet just yet. The memory of Brian’s patronising tone still stings a little too harshly for that. 

-

They decide to come back to that song at another point in the end and don’t work on it for the rest of the day. John can’t quite decide whether he’s relieved or a little bit aggrieved. He can’t help but wonder whether that would have been the case if it had been Freddie at loggerheads with Brian, or Roger pitching a fit. In some way it feels like because it’s accepted from them because it’s more _expected_ from them.

John pushes that thought aside before it can fester. Since the discipline system was brought into play the band dynamics have settled down, and he knows it’s not fair to think moody thoughts about Freddie and Roger getting away with bad behaviour. That’s certainly not the case anymore.

He keeps to himself for the afternoon. He’s not sulking, and he thinks the others realise that, at least. He just likes to have some space at times. He plays well, and he throws in a few ideas here and there, and even offers them all a quick smile when they jump on one of the ideas to use it. All in all, it’s not the worst end to a day that started out fairly bad.

When he wakes up the next morning, though, his first thought is of that bloody song. He knows they’ll want to get it finished today. He knows also that none of them are going to want to concede their corner. He understands that. He doesn’t want to concede his.

He thinks Brian will probably win, though. They’ve stopped thinking of songs as belonging to an individual in professional terms at least, but personally… it’s hard. Brian was the one who came up with the beginnings of this song. John reckons that knowing that, Freddie and Roger will probably give in to him.

He lies in bed and stares at the ceiling. He’s already stayed in bed ten minutes longer than he should have, but… well, the thought of not going into the studio at all today actually sounds quite nice.

By the time he’s begun to think wistful thoughts about going out for a walk and making himself a nice lunch which he can eat in peace and quiet, John knows he’s already convinced himself.

It’s not like it’ll cause any great trouble for them if John doesn’t show. He’s sure they’ve got other things to busy themselves with that don’t need his bass, just for the day.

So he stays in bed as long as he pleases, and when he finally gets up to examine the contents of his fridge, he nudges his phone off its hook.

Cheese on toast, he thinks, and no phone calls to nag him. Perfect.

-

“Morning,” says John with a little yawn as he walks into the studio the next day.

The other three are already there, which is… surprising. He takes his jacket off and goes to get himself some water from the dispenser in the corner. It’s only as he takes his first sip that he properly looks at his bandmates, and finds them all staring at him with matching expressions of incredulity.

It’s quite funny, actually. They’re all so expressive but usually in such different ways. John can’t help but grin at the sight of Freddie’s outrage on Brian’s face, Brian’s disbelief on Roger’s, Roger’s astonishment on Freddie’s.

“What?” he says.

They don’t seem to know what to say. Freddie opens his mouth and closes it. Brian looks like he’s wrestling with himself. It’s Roger who finds his voice first and says, “Where the hell _were_ you yesterday?”

“Oh.” John takes a sip of his water. “Just fancied a bit of a break, you know.”

“A bit of a break,” repeats Freddie.

“Mm.” John arches an eyebrow at them. “Why are you all staring at me like you’ve seen a ghost? It was only a day.”

“Only a day during which we couldn’t get in touch with you at all and had no idea why you weren’t showing up,” says Brian.

John frowns at him. “Bit dramatic for you, Bri, isn’t it? I just wanted the day to myself. Thought you had enough to be getting on with.”

“You thought we didn’t need you,” says Freddie.

That’s too close to the bone for John’s liking. He directs his frown to Freddie instead. “That’s not what I said.” He doesn’t like how it comes out – mulish, a bit sulky.

“That’s what you’re implying,” Freddie says loudly. “That you didn’t show up because you thought you’re dispensable, that we don’t need you, because we _obviously_ treat you so awfully – ”

“Stop putting words in my mouth,” John snaps.

“We had a full day to put words in your mouth seeing as you weren’t here to say them for yourself,” Roger snaps right back at him.

“We were worried,” says Brian.

John closes his mouth, swallowing back his retort. “You didn’t need to be,” he mutters after a long pause.

“Didn’t we? We called, no answer, we called again, no answer, and the last time we saw you there was that argument and then you went all quiet. And then you don’t show up.”

“Rog and I called around in the evening,” Freddie says. “And we couldn’t get hold of you then either.”

John blinks at him. He’d gone out for a few drinks at the local pub, that was all, but the thought of Freddie and Roger knocking on his door to be met with silence makes something twist in his stomach.

“John,” Brian says. His voice is soft now, and his expression is – almost a bit pained, John realises uncomfortably. “Did you really think we didn’t need you?”

“No! No, that’s not – “ John stops and sucks in a breath, because his denial sounds weak even to his own ears. “That’s not what I thought,” he finishes, lamely. “Not – not consciously.”

“But subconsciously, that’s how we made you feel,” Roger says. John opens his mouth to deny it but Roger adds,  with an edge to his voice, “It’s either that or you just couldn’t be arsed, mate.”

John is silent for a long moment. Then he finally admits, “It was… maybe a mixture of the two.”

Freddie gives him a hard look which makes John feel like he should be withering under it.

“I don’t mean that in a lazy way,” he says, because he knows that’s why Freddie is glaring. “I just mean… with the argument at all. I suppose it got to me a bit… a bit more than I let on. And that’s what I felt like I couldn’t be bothered with.”

“Right,” says Brian. “Well. Thank you for being honest with us, at least.”

John has an uncomfortable feeling he knows where this is going. He also has an even more uncomfortable feeling that he possibly deserves it.

“We didn’t mean to make you feel dispensable,” Brian continues, then stops. “I didn’t mean to make you feel dispensable,” he amends, and meets John’s eyes. “So I’m sorry that I did.”

John wants to deny it, feeling a bit pathetic, but he’s already sort of admitted to it so he just gives a little nod and glances away at the first chance he gets. “Sorry I didn’t show,” he offers back, cautiously.

Brian hums under his breath. “What would you have done, if Fred didn’t show up one day?” he asks suddenly. “Or what would you have wanted _me_ to do about it? To Fred? Or Rog, if it was him?”

“Not that we would do that,” Freddie adds, rather snidely. Roger elbows him.

John shifts his weight uncomfortably, but he answers honestly. “I would have expected you to punish him.”

Brian nods. “And what punishment would you have thought fitting?”

So this is how it’s going to be, John thinks glumly. He’s going to have to choose his own punishment.

He doesn’t reply straight away, and Brian doesn’t push him. He can feel their eyes on him as he looks down at the floor. He doesn’t want to say it – he’s only been over Brian’s knee once, right at the start of the discipline system, and he’d been happy under the impression that once was enough.

“I would have suggested spanking,” he admits finally, forcing himself to look up and meet their gazes. 

“I would have agreed,” Brian says. “Freddie? Roger?”

“Me too,” says Roger. Freddie just nods.

“That’s that, then,” Brian says. “Shall we say ten, for disrupting recording through deliberate unnecessary absence?”

The reasoning makes John flush, the creeping sense of shame intensifying, but the number seems low compared to the punishments he’s seen Brian dole out to Freddie. “Is that enough?” he mumbles, not wanting to ask, but feeling that he must. “Shouldn’t you – more smacks or the hairbrush or something? I mean, you gave Fred twenty for disruption a couple of weeks ago – ”

Brian just snorts. “That’s because he has a real talent for being repeatedly disruptive regardless of how many times I spank him,” he says. Freddie mutters something undoubtedly rude but just ever so slightly too quiet to be audible. “This is only your second offence. And I was in the wrong for the way I treated you before, which led to this. So I’ve got to take that into consideration.”

It’s difficult to feel much relief when he knows what’s awaiting him, but John says, “Thanks,” anyway. He lets out a shaky breath. He’d forgotten just how nervous this makes him, but he’s not about to hide away or back down. “Shall we – can we get it over with?”

“Of course.” There’s a gentleness in Brian’s voice that makes it easier for John to go over to him when he finds a chair and sits down, legs spread and waiting. Whilst it’s never going to be easy to drop trousers and bend over your bandmate’s lap to be punished, the knowledge that Brian really does care about their relationships and protecting the band dynamic is something of a comfort.

 _You deserve this_ , John reminds himself as Brian gives him a bit of time to get as comfortable as he can. He holds onto Brian’s leg to steady himself and then exhales, waiting.

There’s a brief pause before Brian’s hand smacks down on John’s upturned ass. John winces, and grits his teeth as Brian delivers two more on top of each other.

God, he’s glad that being a bass guitarist doesn’t require him to sit down. Brian must be getting better at this, he thinks with a hint of despair. He remembers the pain from last time well enough but this time Brian seems to know exactly where to place the smacks to make them really sting.

He doesn’t bother to try and hide his shaky breathing – he’s heard it himself from Freddie and Roger and even from Brian himself, and he knows nobody is going to point and laugh. They all know this hurts.

“Tell us why you’re here,” comes Brian’s voice from above him. He still sounds gentle, which contrasts so directly with the force of his hand that John feels a brief and hysterical urge to laugh.

“I let you all down,” he says into Brian’s knee. Saying it out loud makes him cringe at himself when he thinks about how he had casually ignored them for the whole day and not once wondered whether or not they might be concerned.

Brian spanks him again. “How did you do that?”

“I – I didn’t come in when I should have.”

“No, you didn’t.” Two more strikes, veering close to the tops of his thighs, and suddenly John understands why Freddie kicks out so much when that happens to him.

“Next time,” Brian says, pausing between smacks, though John’s not sure whether it’s to make sure John is listening or whether he’s giving his own hand a break, “ _talk_ to us, Deaky. If you have a problem. Even if there’s been an argument. You can always talk to us.”

The final spank nearly sends John off balance and he squeezes his eyes tightly shut, expecting the shame to rear its head again at Brian’s scolding. It doesn’t – he can’t really focus on anything but the heat in his ass. He’s oddly grateful for it.

Brian lays a soothing hand on his back. “We’re done,” he tells him. “Take however long you need.”

John nods his head, still keeping his face pressed into Brian’s thigh. He stays there for a few moments, giving his breathing time to steady out. Then he picks himself up slowly. Brian’s hands are there to guide him.

“Sorry,” he says as soon as he’s upright; Brian keeps his arm curled around John’s waist and gives him a little smile. “For bottling things up until they cause a problem.”

“Thanks for apologising,” Brian says. “And I’m sorry too, for giving you a reason to bottle bad feelings up.”

“Brian apologised!” says Freddie. “Quick, someone record him.”

Brian just shakes his head, amused. John apologises to Freddie too and gets a faceful of black hair for it as Freddie darts forward to give him a quick hug.

Roger has fetched him another glass of water and passes it to him. “Sorry, Rog,” John says.

“Don’t worry about it,” says Roger. He gives John a look as he takes a sip of the water. “I mean that.”

John nods, managing a little smile. He knows. It’s one of the things he’s found works best about their system – the fact that it gives them a way to deal with a problem and then put it firmly behind them.

“Right, my loves. Let’s get back to everyone’s favourite song,” Freddie says brightly, then opens his eyes wide in mock innocence when his words are met with three separate groans. “What?”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In a shocking turn of events, I do in fact vaguely have a plan for the next chapter! Roger and Deaky are about to find out that Brian and Freddie have been keeping a little something from them...


	10. Brian & Freddie: part one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to SonnyDLV for the idea regarding Freddie's shorts which I couldn't resist using...

Freddie takes his outfits very seriously. That’s common knowledge. He likes clothes, likes the statements he can make with them and the sheer variety, all those different textures and colours.

He also likes the attention he receives for particular outfit choices, and that’s hardly a secret either.

He’s particularly proud of tonight’s choice. They’ve not played at this venue before, so Freddie, being ever so nice and all, has decided to give the audience a special treat in the form of a particularly _out there_ clothing choice. The outfit doesn’t consist of all that much, admittedly, but so what? Freddie is fully aware that he’s got the best legs in the band and it would be nothing short of a crime not to get them out as far as he’s concerned.

He does a quick little twirl in front of his mirror and admires the view. The shorts are tiny enough to leave absolutely nothing to the imagination, which is exactly why he likes them. He’d considered braces or a neckerchief or something, but the shorts speak for themselves, honestly. He wouldn’t want anything else to distract from how nice his ass looks in them.

It is quite cold backstage, though, so he grabs a dressing gown and slings it over his shoulders before he pads across the hall to the main dressing room where the others are. They’re halfway through getting ready themselves, in a fashion at least; Deaky currently has one leg trapped in his trousers and is hopping on the spot trying not to fall over whilst Roger and Brian laugh at him.

Freddie grins at the sight but can’t resist heaving a big dramatic sigh as he marches over to help. “Poor love,” he says, grabbing John’s arm to balance him. Deaky shoots him a grateful look.

“Ruin our fun, why don’t you?” quips Roger, turning back to his mirror to give his hair its thousandth artful tousle.

“Rog, I’m not sure why you haven’t learned not to underestimate our little Deaky yet,” Freddie sighs. “You know he’s perfectly capable of ice cold revenge. Salt in your coffee or something.”

Roger just rolls his eyes at him, so Freddie turns his attention to Brian instead. He’s trying to tame his own hair in the mirror, without much success. Freddie comes up behind him and picks up a comb from the side – a little plastic thing, _not_ that damned hairbrush, thank you very much – and takes over. Brian meets his eyes in the mirror and gives him a soft little smile.

Freddie warms his voice up a bit as he works on Brian’s hair. He’s pleased with how he sounds, strong and pure. It should be a good show; he’s looking forward to it. Brian closes his eyes to listen, that little smile still on his face.

“A dressing gown is a novel choice of stage outfit, even for you,” Deaky says eventually, when he’s got himself ready. Roger snorts.

Freddie shakes his head. “Ye of little faith, Deaky, darling,” he says. He’s unable to hide his wicked little grin. “I’m all dressed and ready underneath.”

Brian opens his eyes and looks Freddie up and down in the mirror. “Er,” he says. “It doesn’t look like you’re wearing anything under that.”

“Fred I’ve told you already, I am _not_ going out there with you naked,” Roger says at once.

Freddie puts the comb down and turns to face Roger and Deaky, his grin widening.  “As delightful as that would be,” he says, “I am actually wearing clothes.” He takes a moment to enjoy the scepticism (and outright wariness) on their faces, then shrugs his dressing gown off, letting it pool around his ankles. “Ta da!”

The pair of them blink at him, taking in the tiny shorts. Freddie beams proudly.

“I feel like you should have said, ‘I am sort of wearing clothes’,” says John at last.

Roger just shakes his head at him, but he’s grinning. Freddie knows Rog is grudgingly impressed with his nerve.

“Oh hush, I look glorious and you know it,” he tells them fondly, then turns his back on them to face Brian. “What do you think, darling?”

Brian is staring at him with a very strange look on his face. Or rather, he’s staring at Freddie’s crotch with the strange look on his face, which Freddie assumes means that moments earlier his eyes had been fixed on Freddie’s ass. Not surprising, but still, Freddie quirks an eyebrow at him. “Well?”

Brian blinks and looks up at Freddie. Freddie cocks his head at him. “Lost for words?” he asks, amused.

Then, from behind him, Roger says, “Er. Freddie, mate?”

Freddie glances over his shoulder. John and Roger are both giving him funny looks now.

Actually, they’re giving his _ass_ funny looks. Freddie is used to people looking at his ass and frankly encourages the attention, but Roger and John aren’t _normally_ among them.

“What?” he asks again, when no answer is forthcoming. “Do I just look particularly gorgeous?”

He looks back at Brian. Brian has gone, bizarrely, very red.

Deaky comes to the rescue. “You’ve got… something,” he says, which is isn’t particularly helpful, but at least he’s of more use than Brian and Roger at the moment. “On you. Um. There.” And he points at Freddie’s ass.

Freddie frowns at him. The shorts are new, so he can’t imagine what could possibly be on them that the others can see. He moves aside slightly so that Brian isn’t blocking the view of his body in the mirror and twists himself to try and get a good look.

At first he can’t see anything. The shorts are white, and perfectly white too just as he had imagined. There’s no marks on them. He’s just about to tell John so when he stretches his torso a bit further to get in one last good look at himself, and then his gaze drops a little and – oh.

_Oh._

Freddie does not consider himself an easy blusher. He thinks in general he is quite good at wriggling his way out of embarrassing situations. He can laugh at himself, he can brush things aside. But.

Well.

He makes the most of the fact that his back is still to Roger and Deaky to give Brian a little sideways look. Brian is staring back at him, looking more embarrassed than ever. Together, they look back at Freddie’s reflection in the mirror. Very specifically, at the fucking _handprint_ that Freddie can see, so clearly now that he wonders how he ever missed it, imprinted red and clear on his skin just under the curve of his ass.

When he squints he thinks he can see another matching print on the other side, slightly higher up so more hidden by the shorts. Fucking _hell._

“Um,” he says, because for once in his life words fail him.

He doesn’t want to turn back to face John and Roger, aware that he’s gone nearly as red as the _handprint on his ass from where Brian spanked him in bed last night oh god oh god oh god_. But he makes himself look at them anyway, trying valiantly to ignore the embarrassed screaming inside his own head.

They gawp back at him in silence. There’s nothing for it; Freddie is just going to have to brave this one out.

“Well,” he says. “Do you know, I think I might actually change my outfit.”

“I think that is probably a good idea,” says Roger.

Brian, the traitor, is silent behind him. He gives a little cough that is clearly meant to count as some sort of contribution to kill the awkward silence.

Freddie picks up his dressing down and puts it back on. Brian turns back to the mirror and makes a feeble attempt at starting on his hair again. Freddie half-reckons he can literally feel the embarrassment rolling off Brian, which is a bit rich, he thinks, considering Freddie is the one who’s been walking round with a giant handprint from being spanked by Brian and his stupid giant guitarist hands.

Freddie is the one who nearly went on stage and showed the handprint off to thousands of screaming fans. He feels a bit weak at the thought.

“Stop staring at me,” he snaps at the other two, because it’s not like the concept of spanking is new to them, they’ve seen Freddie get spanked countless times.

Though Freddie has been rather well-behaved as of late. He’s been quite proud of that, but it does give him a little hint as to why John and Roger look so confused.

He resists the urge to give a pathetic little cough like Brian had and marches over to the door instead. Before he can open it, though, Deaky speaks.

“What I want to know,” he says slowly, “is where that came from?”

Roger gives a little groan. “Do we really have to ask?” he says despairingly.

Brian is clearly going to be absolutely no help at all – he’s still got his back to them – so Freddie gives a light little laugh and does his level best to throw John off the scent. “Oh, you know how it is,” he says. “A little bit of over-enthusiasm.”

“Right,” says Deaky. He looks supremely unconvinced. “Just a casual partner, was it?”

Freddie sees Roger glance at John in surprise. They don’t normally quiz each other on partners or anything of the sort, but then, they’re always pretty open about it with each other anyway so there’s little need to.

Freddie is struck by the realisation that _Deaky knows_ and fights the urge to squirm guiltily on the spot.

Still, Deaky must surely be basing his realisation on assumption and no solid fact. He must be guessing, from Brian’s reaction and Freddie’s shiftiness and the fact that the handprint is clearly fairly new but Freddie has spent the vast majority of his time in the past week with them and hasn’t mentioned meeting anyone else once.

Truth be told, Freddie’s not entirely sure why he and Brian have kept their relationship under wraps from the other two. They just… have. They didn’t say anything when it happened, nor when it happened again, or the time after that… or the tenth time after that. They’ve just got used to keeping it quiet.

Maybe Freddie can still throw him off the scent. He gives him a bright smile and says, “Yes, darling. You don’t need to worry about me, it was all perfectly consensual. Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to go and get changed – ”

His hand is on the doorknob and he’s just about to open it when Deaky says, very pointedly, “What do you think, Brian?”

Freddie stops. He can’t help throwing a quick glance at Brian over his shoulder.

When Brian turns round, he’s still so red-faced he may as well have GUILTY emblazoned across his forehead. Freddie despairs, he truly does.

Roger is staring at Brian now too just like Deaky is, and Freddie knows the game is up. There’s no way to wriggle out of this now. There’s no explanation for why Brian looks a dog caught with its nose in the biscuit jar. He looks mournfully at the half-open door and closes it again.

“Brian?” Deaky prompts. “What do you think about this?”

“About what?” Brian asks, and _Christ,_ Freddie is going to book Brian an acting coach for Christmas this year, he really is, because Freddie could do a better innocent act than that when he came out of the _womb._

Roger looks between them. Freddie fancies he can hear the cogs whirring in Roger’s brain.

“About the fact that someone _else_ has clearly had Freddie over their lap,” Deaky says, and Brian winces. “Well, I assume so anyway. It certainly wasn’t me – was it you?”

Straight to the bloody point. Freddie really isn’t sure why anybody thinks John Deacon is the _sweet_ one in _Queen._

“Um,” says Brian. “No, no it wasn’t.”

Freddie knows what Brian is thinking, because he happens to be thinking the exact same thing. The sex last night had been playful and fun and _hot_ and Brian hadn’t been able to keep his hands to himself for a moment. Brian had spanked him and called him _naughty boy_ in a little murmur because he knows how it makes Freddie moan, and afterwards Freddie had ridden him and revelled in the sensation of Brian’s fingers digging into his hips, possessive and tight.

Thank god the shorts are high-waisted, now he comes to think of it.

“Freddie,” says John, still watching Brian, “would you mind coming over here for just a moment?”

Freddie is instantly suspicious. “Why?”

“Just want to check something.” Deaky looks at him now and holds up his hands to show he means no harm. “Nothing bad. I won’t even touch you, I promise.”

Freddie can’t very well refuse him without looking paranoid, so he reluctantly comes over to John. Roger makes a visible effort to stop himself staring at the handprint on Freddie’s ass as he comes closer, but Freddie kindly neglects to mention it.

Deaky reaches out and true to his word doesn’t touch Freddie, but ghosts his hand an inch or so away from Freddie’s skin. Freddie realises he’s measuring his hand against the print and bites back a groan. There’s no way Brian is going to be able to get away with this.

“My hand isn’t as big as that one,” John notes, like it’s a fucking surprise. He gives Brian a look, blatantly struggling to hold back a grin. “Hey, Bri, why don’t you have a go?”

Brian doesn’t move for one long second. He must surely know he’s caught. Freddie stares at him in resignation, willing him to get it over and done with. 

Eventually Brian seems to accept his loss and gets up, walking over to Freddie. His hand hovers close enough to Freddie for Freddie to be able to feel the warmth radiating from him. Then he gives in and gently cups Freddie’s ass, fitting his hand perfectly over the print with a little sigh that plainly says he knows he’s been caught.

“Aha,” says Deaky.

“I feel like fucking Cinderella,” Freddie mumbles.

“Cinderella and the red handprint,” Roger says, straight-faced. “I knew I was getting a watered down version of the story as a kid.”

“So,” says Deaky.

“Can I go and change my shorts now?” asks Freddie.

“Only if Brian doesn’t come with you, wouldn’t want you to get distracted,” Roger says immediately, with no small amount of glee. Freddie knows for certain in that moment that Roger is never going to let either one of them live it down, ever.

“Don’t you think we should have a little chat about the consequences of lying to the band first?” asks Deaky sweetly.

Freddie and Brian’s heads shoot up at once.

Oh, no. No no no. There is no _way_ Freddie is going to have his good behaviour streak ruined by a simple omission of the truth on his and Brian’s part.

Though, when he thinks about it, they have lied quite a bit in order to cover their tracks. Freddie quickly pushes that thought from his mind.

Roger looks between Freddie and Brian’s matching expressions of horror and gives a snort of laughter. “Deaky. I love you.”

“This doesn’t count as lying to the band!” Brian protests.

“Doesn’t it?” Deaky asks mildly.

“Oh, Fred,” Roger says. “I knew you weren’t as bothered by the spanking as I was, but I didn’t realise you were actively asking Brian for _more_ behind-the-scenes.”

Freddie immediately looks around for something to throw at Roger, but Brian catches his wrist as he goes for the nearest item (a half-empty plastic bottle, which wouldn’t be particularly satisfying but it would be _something_ at least.

“Isn’t one of the rules also that we’re not to make fun of each other in situations like this?” Brian fires back at Roger. Freddie had been about to yank his hand free of Brian’s grip but he stops at that and settles for glaring at Roger instead.

“That’s a fair point,” Deaky agrees. He leans back in his chair and lifts an eyebrow at Brian. “I accept we’re not to make fun. Do you accept that the pair of you have lied?”

Freddie can sense Brian’s struggle. He _hates_ ever admitting that he’s been in the wrong. So Freddie takes a little step forward and crosses his arms. “I don’t see how our personal lives or relationships necessarily affect the band, or can be counted in the discipline system,” he states.

Deaky hums. “Mm, that’s true. The system is to protect dynamics in the band though, and don’t you think it’s a bit of a risk to not let Roger and I know that the relationship between you and Brian had changed quite dramatically from what we understood it to be? What if you’d had – a lover’s tiff, if you like? That would’ve affected us. And _Queen_ as a whole.”

“It hasn’t affected anything,” mutters Freddie.

Deaky shrugs. “No. But it could have. I’m not saying you shouldn’t have _done_ it. I’m saying you shouldn’t have hidden it from us.”

Freddie really, really wishes he had some fantastic comeback to that, but his mouth snaps shut of its own accord. Next to him, Brian speaks up.

“We shouldn’t have hidden it,” he says. “I agree. That was a mistake.”

Freddie wants to take his hand, but he’s too used to keeping most of their little displays of affection away from the eyes of Roger and John to automatically do it. He shifts his weight instead, letting his shoulder bump Brian’s side in a little show of support. He knows how hard it is for Brian to accept his mistakes, proud as he is.

“And I accept that keeping it from the two of you goes against the rules we set in place to protect _Queen_ ,” Brian continues. Freddie remembers how good Deaky was with the hairbrush and winces in advance. But then Brian says, “However, I don’t think it’s fair that we take equal blame.”

Surprised, Freddie looks up at him. “Bri – ”

“I was the one who asked Freddie to keep our relationship on the down low to begin with,” Brian continues regardless. “And I will say this, we never deliberately set out to lie to either of you, that was never our intention. But I was the one who was keen from the start to keep it quiet. Fred would probably have told you by now, given his own way. So.” Brian lifts his chin and looks between Deaky and Roger. “I ask that you take that into consideration when deciding what to do.”

Freddie opens his mouth to argue the point, because he feels touched by Brian’s protectiveness but also he’s an adult and as far as he’s concerned this is shared equally between them, but Brian slips an arm around his waist and gives him a quick squeeze. The meaning behind the gesture is clear, and Freddie sighs but shuts up. Brian won’t be convinced to change his mind.

“How long has this been going on for, out of interest?” Roger questions.

“About three and a half months,” Brian says. He has the answer ready so quickly that it’s clear he’s thought about it previously. Freddie tries his level best to keep his expression impassive rather than sappy.

“I can’t believe we didn’t notice,” Roger moans.

“Not very observant, are you?” Freddie says smugly.

“Or else you’re just good at lying,” Deaky counters. Freddie looks away quickly.

Before anything else can come of it, there’s a sharp rap on the dressing room door and the shout goes out – fifteen minutes until they’re on.

Freddie suppresses a groan. There’s no way they’re going to be able to resolve this before they get through a show, which means he’s going to be thinking about it _through_ the bloody show instead.

“Later,” Deaky agrees, and Freddie all but legs it to go and get changed.

Really, Freddie thinks, it’s the audience who are missing out. They’ll never know what a wonderful outfit he had planned for them.

Brian and his bloody hands.

Still, there’s something to be said for the leather trousers he picks out instead, and Brian isn’t particularly subtle in the way he lets his eyes linger as they head up towards the stage.

Roger clearly notices too. “Maybe we should add _Liar_ to the set tonight,” he says slyly. “Give you something to think about.”

Freddie exchanges a glance with Brian. He’s fairly sure they’re going to be thinking about little else anyway.

 

-

 

[PS. Please just know that I was in public a couple of days ago and saw [this image](https://cdn1.imggmi.com/uploads/2019/3/14/521bb7d068ac36d4c6c89195a3509436-full.jpg) and the noise I made was deeply undignified. Thought about nothing else but this fic for the rest of the day. Thanks, boys.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another two partner, part two to follow soon!


	11. Brian & Freddie: part two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry sorry sorry I didn't mean to leave you on that cliffhanger for ages whoopsy
> 
> I come bearing an extra long chapter (I think? It feels like it but I have taken absolutely zero notice of word counts so, you know). Still, enjoy!

Freddie has always maintained that he didn’t write _Bohemian Rhapsody_ about anything or anyone, but he’s considering changing his stance on that. In retrospect, he thinks ‘Beelzebub has a devil put aside for Deaky’ is a much better fit.

It’s been a week. A whole bloody _week_ , and neither Deaky nor Roger have said anything about how exactly they plan to punish Freddie and Brian for lying to them.

He knows it’s not Roger’s doing. Roger has flitted between outrage that they kept it from him and glee at the absurdity of the situation they’ve landed themselves in, but Freddie knows Roger too well to think he’d ever be able to keep this charade going left to his own devices. No, Roger is all about instant gratification; if it was up to him, the situation would have been over and dealt with after that fateful night when the pair of them were found out, because Roger simply would not have been able to resist.

(He spent the first couple of days after finding out pestering Brian and Freddie for more information about how this ever happened. He stopped when Freddie, tired of the questioning, turned around and provided him with details far more graphic than he had been requesting. Roger gawped and Brian made a noise like a hoover sucking up something it shouldn’t, and Freddie can now smugly point out that no further questions have been asked.)

Deaky, on the other hand. He’s a dark horse, that one; Freddie has always known it, really, in a sense. People always underestimate his ability to stand up for himself, his ferocity when it comes to defending his views or opinions.

Freddie had not thought that he was also guilty of underestimating John, but it turns out life is full of surprises.

Brian has taken to pushing back at him, demanding to know when he’s going to act, what he’s going to do. He’s done it twice so far and each time Deaky has brushed him off with an airy retort. He’s absolutely doing it on purpose, Freddie knows, and he suspects that John resolves to wait a little longer every time Brian huffs and complains about it.

It’s probably part of the punishment, Freddie thinks with some resignation. He has to hand it to Deaky; he knows what he’s doing. He knows that Freddie is impatient by nature and just wants to get things out of the way. He knows that Brian hates being kept in the dark.

Truly, the man is an evil mastermind disguised under a shock of hair and a deceptively sincere smile.

Still. Freddie has been pushing it from his mind as much as possible. He’s better at that than Brian is. So Freddie, being a kind and caring individual with a heart of gold, has taken to finding ways to distract Brian in creative and delightful ways. He’s rather good at it.

They’re in the middle of one such distraction one evening at Brian’s place when his phone rings. Freddie ignores it, because he’s on his knees by the side of Brian’s bed with his hands on Brian’s hips and Brian’s cock in his mouth.

“Phone,” groans Brian from above him, somewhat unnecessarily.

Freddie looks pointedly up at Brian and lifts a single unimpressed eyebrow. Then he hollows his cheeks around Brian’s cock and maintains eye contact with him.

Brian makes a noise dangerously close to a whimper. The hand in Freddie’s hair flexes and Freddie gives a little hum of enjoyment to encourage him. The phone bleats on uselessly in the background. Freddie is pleased to note that it goes ignored from that point on.

He knows Brian’s body well by now, knows his little reactions and habits and the meanings behind the noises he makes. He knows how Brian likes Freddie to suck him off hard and fast and then suddenly slow down just before he tips over the edge; he knows how the stutter of Brian’s breath above him and the little mumble of Freddie’s name over and over again mean he’s about to come.

They’ve just reached that point when the phone rings again. It doesn’t exactly stop either of them, but it’s an unpleasant interruption all the same. Freddie loves making Brian come, loves how afterwards Brian will draw Freddie up into his arms and lie back with him and tell him he’s a good boy. Freddie fucking loves a cuddle, thank you very much, and he’s not ashamed about it.

The phone call robs him of his chance this time. He knows Brian will be worried it’s something important if they’re ringing him back, so Freddie sighs and gets to his feet, rolling his shoulders to work the kinks out as he leaves Brian sprawled back on his elbows on the bed, out of breath and grinning like a fool. He picks up the phone in Brian’s hallway.

“Hello?”

“Br – Freddie?” Deaky says on the other end, sounding surprised.

“The one and only,” Freddie says, twirling the phone cord around one of his fingers. He doesn’t bother to explain what he’s doing at Brian’s. It’s a rather welcome change, actually, compared to all the sneaking around before. “I assume you want Brian?”

“No, actually, you’ll do. Do you and Brian have plans tonight?”

Freddie glances through the bedroom door. Brian has come to his senses a bit and is leaning back against the pillows, looking back at Freddie. He tilts his head in question. Freddie gives himself a moment to enjoy the wonder that is Brian May, post-orgasm.

“We’re in the middle of our plans, actually,” Freddie drawls.

There’s a beat, then a sigh. “I’m not going to question it.” Freddie’s about to reply when Deaky adds, “I’m afraid I’ll have to interrupt it, though.”

“Deaky, darling, you know I love you, but please understand me when I say I’ll only be leaving Brian’s bedroom tonight if there is an apocalypse of some sort,” Freddie says.

“Roger and I want the two of you to meet us at the studios in an hour’s time,” says Deaky. “We’ve decided upon your punishment.”

For a moment Freddie isn’t sure what to say. He considers telling Deaky no. He considers not telling Brian what Deaky has said. Then he imagines how much worse his own punishment will be if he does that, and how pissed off Brian would be if he knew.

He sighs. “Fine. I take back what I said about loving you.”

“I’m sure.” Deaky sounds far too amused for Freddie’s liking, so he offers no more than a grunt when he repeats the time and the place. Freddie puts the phone down on him grumpily.

“John?” asks Brian when Freddie returns to him. He scans Freddie’s face and lifts his eyebrows. “Is he coming here?”

“We’re to go to them. Within an hour," Freddie reports sullenly. He really was looking forward to his cuddle. Damn John Deacon. And Roger Taylor too, for that matter. He’s sure the little blonde swine is probably giggling in a corner with Deaky right now.

Brian’s pulling his pants back on, but he pauses, glancing up at Freddie’s face. He stops what he’s going and leans back on the pillows, opening his arms up. “Come here,” he says.

“But Deaky – ”

“Can wait, if he has to,” says Brian calmly. “We’ve got an hour, anyway.”

He’s still waiting, arms spread out. Freddie doesn’t hang about any longer; he gladly worms his way up against Brian’s chest and tucks his head under Brian’s chin and settles in for his cuddle.

-

It isn’t until they’re getting out of the taxi outside the studio that Freddie realises he’s actually rather nervous.

It can’t be that bad, he reasons. He and Brian are adults; Deaky and Roger can’t punish them for being in a relationship. They’re just grumpy because they had to find out by accident rather than being told.

Brian puts his arm around Freddie’s shoulders as they walk inside, which is new. Freddie glances up at him but doesn’t question it. He knows Brian feels protective of him in general, though he can’t quite figure out why he’s so determined to be extra-protective in this situation. Still, it’s nice; Brian’s arm is a comforting weight around Freddie’s shoulders, and the angle of it keeps Freddie pressed up to Brian’s side. He’s reassuringly warm. Freddie slips his own arm around Brian’s waist in return, testing the waters, and is rewarded with a quick little smile.

Deaky and Roger are waiting for them in the studio. Freddie does a quick scan of the room, trying to work out what awaits them. There’s a chair in the corner, he notes glumly, as well as an additional chair waiting in front of Deaky and Roger. On a little table off to one side, there’s that damned hairbrush.

Freddie tries not to wince at the sight of it. Brian gives him a little squeeze before fixing Deaky with a dark look.

“You finally made up your mind, then?”

“We made up our minds the day after we found out,” Deaky says lightly. “We just thought it would be – ah, fitting, to let you wait a bit.”

“Simmer, if you like,” puts in Roger. He grins at Freddie. Freddie ignores him.

“We thought, seeing as we waited so long to find out about the two of you…” John lets that trail off, but the meaning is clear.

Freddie hopes Brian is going to cope with this. He does so hate to be in the wrong.

“What did you decide?” he asks.

“Well,” says Deaky.

“We wanted to check something by you first,” Roger says. “Bri, last time you said it was more your fault than Freddie’s. Which seems a bit unlikely. No offence, Fred.”

“Some taken,” Freddie mutters.

“Do you stand by that?” John asks.

“Yes,” said Brian.

“No!” exclaims Freddie.

Deaky sighs. “We’re going to need you to agree,” he says, waving a hand between them. “Before we can proceed.”

“It is not more your fault than mine,” Freddie says hotly, because damn it, he’s the one who made a move on Brian which started this whole thing in the first place, and so what if it had been Brian’s idea to keep it quiet? Freddie could have blabbed at any time and didn’t. He squirms his shoulders in annoyance until Brian lifts his arm and lets him go, but the look on Brian’s face is far too determined to bode well.

“Brian – ” Freddie begins again, but Brian cuts him off before he can finish.

“I asked you not to tell anyone,” he says firmly. “That’s on me. This punishment isn’t about us, it’s about lying. You wouldn’t have lied if not for me. I’m not going to budge on this, Fred.” He turns to Deaky and Roger. “The lying stemmed from me,” he repeats. “I’m the most to blame for that.”

His eyes bore into Freddie’s. Freddie glares back at him, but after years in a band with Brian May he’s fully aware of the extent of Brian’s stubbornness and he knows this is a battle he’s not going to win. He scowls but looks away, conceding defeat.

“Right,” says Deaky. “That’s settled, then. You both agree that Brian was the main perpetrator in lying to me and Rog?”

“I am, and I should take the brunt of the punishment for it,” says Brian.

“Right,” says Deaky again. He glances at Roger; they share a little look of understanding which suddenly doubles the nerves beginning to flutter in the pit of Freddie’s stomach. “In that case. Brian, if you could sit down, please.” He indicates the chair facing him and Roger.

Brian takes a step towards it, then stops, looking cautious. “Just… sit on it?” he checks.

Deaky nods. “Please.” He waits until Brian has sat down. “Freddie,” he says, but he’s still looking at Brian. “I want you to take your jeans down and bend over Brian’s lap, please.”

Freddie blinks. Before he can do anything more, Brian stands up again.

“No,” he says. “No, John, that’s not fair.”

“This is part of your punishment, Brian,” Deaky says, sounding unimpressed. “We accept the punishments you dole out, are you not going to do the same for us?”

Brian glares at him, but Deaky just gazes back calmly. Slowly, Brian sits down.

“Freddie,” Deaky says. “Brian’s lap, please.”

Freddie hesitates. Brian is giving him a look that’s hard to read – he looks desperately apologetic but also pissed off at the same time, and Freddie knows that’s not directed at him, but still, it’s a strange expression to be on the receiving end of.

He knows why Deaky and Roger have picked this punishment for Brian, though, and he knows also that Brian will absolutely torture himself over it if they don’t handle this well. So he steels himself and walks over to Brian. He unbuttons his jeans and doesn’t look at Brian as he wriggles out of them and lays down across Brian’s spread knees.

“Do you understand why we’re making you do this, Brian?” Deaky’s voice sounds a bit gentler now. Freddie isn’t sure what reaction Brian gives, but whatever it is, it’s not verbal. “Both of you lied to us, but as you’ve said, you led Freddie into lying. You got him into a situation where he has to be punished for breaking the band rules. So you’re going to deliver his punishment.”

Freddie squirms a bit, uncomfortable. Brian lays a hand on his back. Freddie wishes he could lean into it, or let Brian know he appreciates the gesture, but with Deaky and Roger’s stares heavy on the pair of them he doesn’t feel he can do much else but lie there.

“You lied to us for three and a half months,” says Deaky. “That’s fourteen weeks, give or take a couple of days. We thought two strikes per week spent lying seems fair. You’re going to spank Freddie twenty eight times with the hairbrush.”

Freddie can’t help the shaky little exhale that escapes him at that. Brian’s hand on his back becomes heavier, as though he’s resisting the urge to stand up again. “Entirely with the hairbrush? Or a mixture of hand and brush?” Brian questions, and bless him for asking, but if Freddie can hear the barely concealed irritation in his voice he knows that Deaky and Roger will recognise it too.

“Entirely with the brush,” John confirms. His voice, by contrast, sounds perfectly pleasant.

“Because that seems a bit harsh,” Brian continues, louder, “considering you’ve just agreed that Fred isn’t the main culprit here – ”

“Thirty strikes with the hairbrush,” says Deaky, and Freddie doesn’t bother to hold back his groan. “And I’ll remind you that we all agreed that when we are being punished we don’t argue with the punishment that has been set.”

“And this is your punishment as much as it’s Freddie’s,” Roger adds.

That shuts Brian up, thank god, because Freddie really doesn’t fancy his chances if Brian gets on a roll. “Please just get on with it,” he says without lifting his head from Brian’s knee. It comes out muffled but Brian gets the message.

Freddie hears him pick up the brush and braces himself.

 _THWACK_.

There’s a split second of nothing after the noise before the sudden flare of pain, like his nerves have a delayed reaction. He scrunches his face up, glad the other two can’t see him. The hairbrush really is something else. He and Brian don’t play with it outside of the discipline system, and every strike that Brian rains down on his ass reminds him of why.

Brian isn’t holding back, which Freddie is glad of, because he knows that Deaky and Roger would see right through him if he did. After ten strikes, his ass is burning hot and the urge to reach behind and lay his cool hands against his own overheated skin in an attempt to ease the burn is nearly overwhelming. He folds his hands against his stomach instead and forces himself to concentrate on counting the strikes in his head.

When he reaches fifteen, Deaky says, “Make sure you cover his thighs too, Brian,” in that unimpressed tone of voice that he does so well. Freddie just about manages to hold back his whimper, but only for Brian’s sake.

Brian pauses. He gives Freddie’s back a quick rub, which Deaky and Roger allow, then brings the brush down against the underside of Freddie’s thigh. Freddie gasps in pain and kicks out without meaning to. Brian’s hand returns to his back to hold him steady.

“Sorry, sorry,” he whispers, and then does the same to the other thigh.

By the time he reaches twenty five, Freddie’s eyes are stinging with tears. He’s trying hard to hold them back because he doesn’t want to upset Brian, but it’s difficult; his ass feels like it’s on fire and his thighs are burning. He feels tender and sore and it _really fucking hurts_. He blinks hard, willing the tears back, but he can’t help a choked little sob.

Brian stops. They’re on twenty seven. There’s no word from Deaky or Roger; no way to wriggle off the hook. Brian’s got to deliver the final three smacks and Freddie just wants this to be over.

“Do it, Brian, please,” Freddie pleads.

Brian does. He delivers the three smacks in quick succession, spreading them out over the curve of Freddie’s ass as Freddie cries out in pain.

The hairbrush clatters to the floor and there’s barely a pause before Brian is pulling Freddie up into his arms, far clumsier and quicker than he normally does. He scans Freddie’s face with visible worry and then wraps his arms around him, clutching him close to his chest. “Sorry,” he mumbles again, “I’m sorry, Freddie, I’m really sorry.”

Freddie clings to Brian. His heart is still pounding. Brian presses a kiss to his cheek and tucks his hair off his face, and the gesture is so tender that Freddie could almost forget that Deaky and Roger are both watching them.

When his breathing has finally slowed to something resembling normal, Freddie fumbles with his jeans and winces as he pulls them up. The worry in Brian’s eyes is back again. He buttons them for Freddie because Freddie feels abruptly exhausted and it must show on his face.

He’s well-acquainted with the discipline system, though, and he knows what’s expected of him. He forces himself to look over at Deaky and Roger and mumbles, “Sorry for lying,” before he tucks his face back into Brian’s shoulder. Brian strokes his back gently.

After a few moments, a hand touches his arm. It takes him a second or two to realise it’s Roger, not Brian. Freddie gives his head a little shake to wake himself up.

“It’s not over just yet,” Roger murmurs, but he sounds apologetic. Brian looks suddenly furious and opens his mouth, but Roger quickly adds, “No more spanking, that’s over. Just time out, that’s all.”

Brian narrows his eyes but he reluctantly relinquishes his grasp on Freddie. Freddie lets Roger guide him over to the corner, to the chair he’d spotted when he first came in. It’s facing the others, not the wall. Freddie makes a clumsy attempt to turn it but Roger stops him.

“No, leave it how it.” He keeps a hand on Freddie’s shoulder as he sits, and Freddie can’t hold back his wince as he settles his weight onto his burning ass. “You’re going to stay here and watch Deaky and Brian, alright?”

Freddie scrubs a hand tiredly over his eyes and gives a little nod. Roger squeezes his shoulder briefly before returning to Deaky’s side.

Brian is standing beside the chair he’s just vacated; Deaky is sitting in it now. Brian looks like’s been through the wringer already and Freddie understands with more clarity what Roger meant when he said that spanking Freddie was as much Brian’s punishment as his; he can see in Brian’s face how difficult it was for him to do that when his instincts were screaming to protect rather than punish.

“The plan was for Fred to get twenty eight strikes and time out, and for you to have to spank him, take thirty strikes, and follow our orders for a day in the studio,” Deaky says. “But seeing as Freddie got thirty in the end, I’m going to up yours to thirty five, alright?”

Brian just nods. Knackered as he is, Freddie wishes he could go over there and wrap his arms around him. Maybe stand on his tiptoes to kiss his cheek. He thinks Brian would probably accept fifty strikes or more in the guilty mood he’s in now. He just hopes Deaky is going to manage this well and help Brian let go of that guilt.

Brian arranges himself over Deaky’s knees and the spanking begins. The whoosh and crack of the brush smacking down on Brian’s skin makes Freddie jump the first few times. His ass throbs uncomfortably against the hard chair.

He gets the distinct feeling that neither he nor Brian will be sleeping on their backs any time soon.

Deaky soon settles into a rhythm. Freddie keeps his eyes trained on them, partly because Roger told him too and partly because he feels like he owes it to Brian. Brian went through the difficulty of spanking Freddie when he didn’t want to, so Freddie makes himself watch Brian’s punishment even though it makes him wince in sympathy.

Brian is red-eyed as Freddie himself by the time he surfaces from Deaky’s lap. Deaky says something to him and gives him a hug, and Brian says something to him in an undertone – an apology, presumably, because Deaky nods and gives him a little smile. They’ve both gone quiet, as though there’s a need for some peace now that the situation has been dealt with.

Then Deaky turns to him and calls, “You can come over here now, Freddie.”

Freddie stands up, grateful that his legs don’t wobble as he does. He crosses over to Brian as quickly as he can and burrows into his arm. Brian buries his face in Freddie’s hair.

“Now that this is all sorted,” Roger says, “can I officially give you my blessing? Maybe take you both aside separately and tell you I’ll break your legs if you break each other’s hearts?”

“I’d like to see you try,” Freddie mumbles into Brian’s shoulder. Brian gives a muffled snort of laughter, which Freddie takes as a good sign. He pulls back a bit to examine Brian’s face. He’s still a bit teary-eyed and they’ll both be sore for a few days, but he no longer has the haggard, guilty look on his face from before. Freddie gives him a smile and then tucks himself back in to resume the hug.

“I’m feeling left out,” Roger announces, and that’s all the warning Freddie gets before he gets an extra pair of arms wrapped around him. “Deaky, you too.”

There’s no immediate fourth addition to the hug, which makes Freddie lift his head from Brian’s chest. Over the faceful of blonde hair he gets the moment he does so, he catches sight of John holding back awkwardly as though uncertain he’ll be welcome.

“Oh come here, you evil bastard,” Freddie says in exasperation, and John gives him a little smile, and joins them.


	12. Roger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here we have: Roger and Freddie being soulmates, Roger displaying very little impulse control and Freddie being Soft. And Brian and Deaky being done with Roger's shit, naturally.

Roger’s never really been 100% sure on who is the bad influence when it comes to him and Freddie.

On the surface, it _looks_ like Freddie. But that might be just because Roger has perfected the wide-eyed look of angelic innocence, whereas Fred has one of the most impressive resting bitch faces Roger has ever come across, and he’s come across a lot.

Regardless, if someone laid out the bare facts – someone like Brian, who loves studying things, or John, who is unnervingly fond of a statistic or two – it would be right there staring them in the face: when Roger and Freddie are together, _things_ tend to happen.

It’s been that way ever since Roger met Freddie for the first time, jammed up close at a rickety table in a dark little pub. Freddie had been a bit quiet, for the most part, but intense with it. Roger hadn’t been all that sure what to make of him, had actually assumed Tim’s mate was just a bit shy. Brian and Tim had done the most talking, whilst Roger cast an eye around the pub for the best looking girls and Freddie listened to the conversation and made the odd, softly-spoken interjection.

It hadn’t exactly looked like the recipe for a stellar friendship, but when Brian and Tim had started bickering over something or over, Freddie had startled them all by chiming in with a put-down so cutting that Roger nearly snorted his drink up his nose, and, well. That was it. Freddie grinned at him and Roger fetched them both another drink, and before anyone knew what had happened, they’d abandoned Brian and Tim to their fussing and swanned off to a far more exciting bar together, dark and blonde heads tucked in close.

Roger-and-Freddie, two for the price of one, ever since, and an ever-growing list of misdeeds to their linked names.

For this particular instance, Roger can happily accept the blame. It’s 3am and he’s been drunk since midnight, but not so drunk he can’t remember his own name; his head is buzzing pleasantly and he feels alive and vivid. He’s been yelling along to the lyrics of songs he only half-recognises and he’s vaguely aware that he’s going to have the world’s hoarsest voice tomorrow, which is unfortunate, because they’ve got a show lined up in the evening. He can’t find it in himself to care, though.

When he suggested going out drinking tonight, Freddie had been hesitant. The last time they went to a bar together they were recognised and mobbed within minutes. Fred _hates_ feeling surrounded, he knows, hates it when people grab at him like he’s a doll to be manhandled. It had put an abrupt and unpleasant end to their plans and they haven’t been out to a public bar since.

Roger found this bar the last time they toured to this city. It’s an eclectic mess of styles and music, booths tucked wherever there’s space and little tables scattered haphazardly around. It clearly attracts a diverse range of people, from skinny students to old rockers, and just like last time, Roger has been delighted to note that nobody gives a shit who anybody else is. Not once has anyone laid a hopeful hand on his elbow for an autograph, or pointed in Freddie’s face and yelled, “It’s Freddie Mercury!”

So he and Freddie have stayed here rather than bothering trying to repeat their luck at another venue, getting progressively more drunk on vodka that tastes a bit like it’s been mixed with paint stripper. It’s far from the best, but the anonymity makes it worth it.

Freddie’s dancing with his head lolling back, more relaxed than Roger’s seen him in ages, and it makes something warm and protective bloom in Roger’s alcohol-sodden mind. Brian’s good for Fred, he thinks happily, and he catches Freddie round the waist and yanks him in close to tell him that. It’s not what comes out though; instead, as Freddie laughs and grabs his hand, settling it somewhere presumably more comfortable, Roger slurs, “You’re my favourite, you know that?”

Freddie’s grin is bright and blinding. “Oh? How many of those have you had, darling?” He clinks his own glass against Roger’s, but his coordination is off; liquid sloshes down both their wrists.

“How many have _you_ had?” Roger returns, yelling over the music. He downs what’s left of his drink and abandons the glass on the nearest table, then swoops back to wind both arms around Freddie and half-drags him around in an awkward little dance. Freddie’s laughing, trying to wriggle free, so Roger rests his chin on Freddie’s shoulder instead, keeping his arms loosely wound around him. “Favourite Freddie,” he says, then laughs as though he’s said something hysterical.

“I forgot how cuddly you get after a certain number of vodkas,” Freddie tells him, twisting around in his grip. “Now.” He taps Roger’s nose to get his attention. Roger squints at him as the flashing disco lights paint Freddie’s grin red, blue and green in quick succession. “That frankly _gorgeous_ redhead over by the bar is getting more and more despondent the more she watches you grope me – ” Roger makes a noise of protest, though truth be told he’s got no idea where his hands actually are right now and he can’t bring himself to care “ – so I think we better save our cuddles for another time.”

Roger huffs at him and squeezes him tight so that Freddie groans at him good-naturedly, then lets him go. He doesn’t chase after the pretty redhead, though; tonight is a Roger-and-Freddie night, and he’s having too much fun to cut it short.

-

Roger’s head hits the pillow at just gone 6am, and then the pillow hits the wall at 9am, when he’s woken by the shrill peal of the phone informing him that his driver is half an hour away.

He drags his uncooperative body into a sweatshirt and jeans and then pours a substantial amount of coffee down his throat in an attempt to feel something other than half-dead. It doesn’t work. He coughs and tries to sing a bit, just a couple of notes from _I’m In Love With My Car_ , then winces at the sound that comes out of his mouth. God, he hopes Freddie’s faring better than he is.

When the car arrives he naps all the way to the venue and feels a little heartbroken when he arrives and the driver gives him a nervous nudge and a, “Mr Taylor, sir?” Granted, he’d had his cheek pressed against the cold window of the car and he knows his mouth was hanging open as he slept, but still, it was better than being awake.

He counts his blessings as he trudges in to meet the rest of the band and their team: no headache and no nausea. The voice thing is a problem, though, and he sort of feels like his body’s been hit with a mallet all over it.

He still feels a bit drunk, actually. He casts his mind back to the glasses that he and Freddie had piled up between them and considers the amount of vodka he’d been downing just four hour ago, and winces to himself.

When he gets backstage, the other three are waiting in a dressing room. John looks fresh as a daisy, Brian looks tired, and Freddie is fast asleep on a sofa in the corner. Brian’s wearing an exasperated look that Roger recognises all too well, but he only shakes his head and asks how Roger’s feeling, so he supposes they can’t be in too much trouble.

“Fine,” Roger says – or rather croaks, and then hastily coughs to try and cover it up. He’s not particularly successful; Brian’s eyebrows rise. “How’s Fred?”

“Fine, I think.” Brian glances at him and Roger watches his gaze soften as his eyes land on Freddie’s sleeping form. “Stumbled in singing a rude version of ‘Three Green Bottles’ and then fell asleep halfway through brushing his teeth, but he seems alright. Just tired.”

“You look a bit tired yourself,” Roger points out.

Brian looks faintly embarrassed. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Didn’t want to sleep without Freddie,” John translates.

Brian’s cheeks turn a bit pink, but he doesn’t deny it. On any other day, Roger would leap upon this opportunity to tease with relish, but Freddie’s slumber over in his corner looks far too tempting. They’ve got to rehearse at some point, but the whole point of getting here in the morning was to give them time to wind down and relax before the show, so Roger is intent on making the most of it.

He picks up a cushion from the other end of the sofa and lies down next to Freddie, nudging him to get him to give Roger a bit more room. Freddie shifts and grumbles at him without waking up. “Shut up,” Roger mumbles back as he makes himself comfortable, and with a sigh, Freddie settles back down again.

He’s nice and warm; Roger burrows in close to enjoy it, closes his eyes, and finally goes back to sleep.

-

When he wakes this time, someone’s tossed a throw over him and he’s got the sofa to himself. He rolls over with a yawn, stretching out. He feels a bit better already, he can tell; the haze has lifted from his mind, but he still aches like he’s been run over.

He has a vague memory of performing some complicated twisting dance with Freddie which had made the two of them fall on the floor, hysterical with giggles. He wonders if he should attribute the aches to that.

Brian’s nowhere to be seen but Freddie is sitting at the mirror, head down and breathing rhythmically into a steamer. John is sprawled out on a chair on the opposite side of the room, halfway through a sandwich. The smell makes Roger’s stomach growl and he sits up.

“Feel better?” Deaky asks.

Roger nods. “More human,” he confirms. He points at Freddie’s back and mouths, “Him?”

John gives him a thumbs up, then nods his head at the door and says, “There’s some food out there if you want some – Brian’s just gone to get some for him and Freddie.”

“Thanks Deaks,” Roger says gratefully, climbing to his feet. He goes out in search of the food and finds a decent spread laid out with Brian leaning over it, balancing two plates in one hand. One of the plates is full of salad and other green things that Roger eyes with vague suspicion, whilst the other is piled with Freddie’s favourite things. Roger grabs a plate and helps himself.

There’s a variety of alcohol there for the taking, but Roger dutifully pours himself some water from the jug instead. Brian had been about to pick up two beers but pauses at that, putting down one of the bottles and following Roger’s example instead.

“Good call,” he mutters. “I don’t think the audience particularly want to hear Fred’s rendition of ‘Three Green Bottles’.”

Roger sniggers. “I dunno, it sounds riveting.”

He follows Brian back to the dressing room. Freddie is putting his steamer away and turns to face them both, a bit flushed but smiling. “Thank you, darling,” he says when Brian hands him his plate, and quirks an eyebrow at Roger. “How are you feeling, my love?”

“I was feeling like something one of your cats dragged in, but I’m better now.”

Freddie’s eyebrow arches higher. “Don’t take this personally, Rog, but you _sound_ like something one of my cats might drag in, if it’s still alive when they do it.”

Roger grimaces into his sausage roll. He’s not looking forward to the show tonight – his head might have cleared but he doubts his throat will sort itself out quite so quickly. He knows, too, that it makes Freddie feel more exposed when Roger’s not there to cover him on any notes he might struggle with.

Freddie doesn’t comment again, though. Later, when they’ve rehearsed a bit and Roger has proven that his voice is scratchier than ever, he finds Freddie’s left his steamer out for him to use, with a packet of lozenges alongside it. Silently thanking whatever gods might be listening for Freddie Mercury’s thoughtfulness, Roger sits down and tries to copy how he’s seen Freddie use the contraption.

-

It helps a bit. Not as much as Roger would have liked.

Freddie’s voice seems strong enough, at least. Roger can only assume Freddie didn’t bellow along to the club music as much as he did, and he’s glad of it – Freddie struggling means everyone struggling to back him up, or at worst, cover him up.

There’s about an hour to go and everyone else is in high spirits; Brian and John have hit the beers and Freddie’s curled up on the sofa again with his head on Brian’s lap, halfway through another packet of lozenges just to be on the safe side whilst Brian massages his fingers idly through Freddie’s hair.

Roger’s trying to put on a brave face, but his throat is tickling and he keeps having to cough to clear it. He hates that it brings everyone’s attention back to his lack of voice. They’ve not bitched at him about it, even though it’s his own fault; at rehearsal Deaky had just patted his shoulder and said, “At least you’ve not broken your arms, eh?”

It’s true; his drumming’s fine. More than fine. But Roger’s more than just the drummer, damn it, and Freddie needs him sounding halfway decent for _Under Pressure_ at the very least.

He wanders off moodily with half a plan to just go outside for a bit to get some fresh air. He’s barely taken four steps out of the door when the drinks table catches his eye.

He pauses, his gaze drifting over the bottles. Alcohol wouldn’t help him sing better, but… it would make him forget that he’s unhappy with his voice. And it would probably give him the confidence to go for it and maybe, just maybe, he won’t sound as bad as he fears.

Roger steps up to the take and grabs a handful of shot glasses. He lines them up and pours a healthy slug of neat vodka into each. Then, with a quick glance over his shoulder to check Brian or Deaky aren’t about to descend upon him, he downs them in quick succession.

-

“So maybe… that wasn’t one of my best ideas,” Roger says as he follows the others back to the dressing room after the show. He nearly trips over his own feet in the doorway and claps a hand over his mouth before he can giggle about it.

In front of him, Freddie twists around from where he’s tucked under Brian’s arm to shoot Roger an exasperated look. “I think you might be right,” he tells him, ducking out from under Brian’s arm to grasp Roger’s instead. He guides him into the dressing room and sits him down. “Stay there. Deaky, be a darling and get him some water, would you?”

A few moments later, Roger finds his hands being wrapped around a pint glass of water. The vodka is making his mind feel fuzzy and slow but he makes a concentrated effort to grip the glass tight and appear in control so that John can let go; John steps back and shakes his head at him. “What were you thinking?” he mutters.

“I might ask the same thing, I would have thought the last thing either of us wanted was more vodka,”

“You had beer!” Roger protests, because it feels very important that everyone knows that he’s not the only one who’s been drinking. “On the piano, you had lots of – “ He trails off, searching for the right word.

Freddie lifts an unimpressed eyebrow. “Beer?”

“Yes!” Roger grins up at him. “That’s the one.”

“Freddie had a couple of pints of beer throughout the show,” Brian bites out from the doorway. “Like he usually does. Freddie is not drunk. _You_ downed god knows how many shots of neat vodka just before going on stage. _You_ are drunk.”

Brian sounds pissed off. Roger blinks at him, suddenly unsure of what to say; his tongue feels heavy in his mouth and his head is beginning to pound. He looks down instead, staying quiet.

Freddie and John mill about the dressing room, getting changed; he hears Deaky say, “I don’t know how he even got through that show,” and Freddie’s murmur of agreement. Brian stays by the door, silent and irritated.

Roger forgets he’s meant to be holding the glass and it slips from his fingers, landing with a clatter on the ground. It doesn’t break but cold liquid spills all over his lap, making him yelp and leap to his feet.

“For fuck’s sake,” say Freddie with a sigh. “Come here.” He picks the glass aside and sets it down on the table, then hauls Roger over to the rail of clean clothes in the corner.

The soggy fabric that clings to his legs makes him squirm, but he fumbles with the button of his jeans for ages, struggling to undo it. Freddie does it for him, nimble fingers popping the button open and then easing the waistband down over his hips. Roger grabs hold of Freddie’s shoulders to steady himself as Freddie helps him step out of the soaked jeans. They get stuck briefly on his feet – his shoes are still on – but Freddie just works the fabric until he can pull them off properly and toss them aside.

“Freddie,” Roger mumbles, and Freddie hums his acknowledgement but doesn’t look up. He tries again, more insistently. “ _Fred_.”

Freddie looks up at him, halfway through taking Roger’s trainers off. “What?”

“Did I ruin the show?” Roger asks quietly. It’s already a blur in his mind, a whirlwind of drumsticks flying and his feet on the pedals and the scream of the crowd. He can’t remember anything specific. It panics him – if he can’t remember the show now, barely an hour after it finished, how could he have possibly remembered the songs?

Freddie sighs. “No, you didn’t. You weren’t your best, far from it – ” He says it so bluntly that Roger winces but he doesn’t protest, knowing it must be true “ – but you didn’t ruin it.”

“I can’t remember what happened,” Roger mumbles.

Freddie shakes his head. He taps Roger’s hands, one at a time. “Muscle memory, darling. Your hands knew what to play even if your brain was sloshing round in a pool of vodka.” He returns to his task until Roger is barefoot and his trainers are piled on top of his jeans.

Freddie selects a dry pair from the rack and is just about to help Roger into them when Brian says, “Rog,” very pointedly from behind him.

Both he and Freddie still, and Roger sees Freddie glance at Brian from underneath his lashes, almost as though he thinks he’s in trouble too. It’s that particular tone of Brian’s, Roger thinks with resignation. He can recognise it even through the alcohol haze and he knows exactly what it means.

He nudges the jeans back into Freddie’s hands, making a stern mental note to himself to thank Freddie properly later, when this is all dealt with and when his mind is clearer. He turns to Brian with a sigh and asks, “How many?”

Brian’s still leaning in the doorway. He regards Roger with faint surprise for the question, then asks, “How many do you think?”

Roger shrugs one shoulder. “Not sure I’m in the best state to ask,” he says honestly, because it’s hard enough to force his thoughts into some sort of functional order without adding extra questions into the mix.

Brian nods. “Fair enough. Deaky, Fred? Any thoughts?”

Freddie gives a little groan. “He’s going to regret it perfectly fine on his own tomorrow,” he says cautiously.

“Are you asking me to go easy on him?”

“I’m asking you to think of his inevitable hangover.”

Brian hums in consideration. He glances at John.

Deaky looks between Roger and Brian and shrugs one shoulder. “I think Freddie’s got a point,” he allows. “And I think… we’ve got to take into account the fact that we have all been drinking, Roger just overdid it.”

“True.” Brian looks at Roger and sighs. “I’ve got to admit, Rog, you’re making it fairly difficult to come up with a punishment for you when you’re standing there looking as forlorn as a half-drowned puppy.”

Freddie stifles a little snort of laughter at that. He stands up and puts his arm around Roger’s waist. “Just give him five,” he appeals to Brian. “Five as an acknowledgement that he shouldn’t have done that many shots just before going on stage, and that we aren’t happy with it. But he did manage to get through the show.”

“Somehow,” Deaky mutters.

Brian looks between Freddie and Roger. He sighs. “Fine.”

Freddie gives Roger a little squeeze. Roger is beginning to feel very tired and the sofa has never looked this inviting before, not even this morning when he thought he had already plumbed the depths of human exhaustion. When Brian sits down on it and taps his knee, Roger half-stumbles over in his haste, eager to just get it over with.

“Oh, the indignity,” murmurs Freddie, but Roger’s past caring. He yanks his underwear down without preamble and bends over Brian’s knee. The position makes him feel a bit dizzy; he squeezes his eyes tightly shut.

He’s vaguely aware that this is going to be the first time he’s been spanked alone, without Freddie, since that disastrous first attempt, but if there’s something to be said for the vodka fogging up his brain, it’s that it has successfully removed his ability to go inside his own head and panic about this.

“I’m not convinced you’re going to remember this tomorrow,” Brian mutters, “but for what it’s worth; you know why you’re here, Rog?”

Roger nods his head, then abruptly wishes he hadn’t. “Drunk,” he says.

He’s not sure, but he thinks Brian might’ve stifled a little laugh at that. “Yeah,” he says, “yeah. You are drunk, we can see that. And you know why that’s a bad thing?”

“Too drunk. Shots.”

“Mhm. And that risks the show, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” Roger says, forcing his tongue to push the words out, “sorry.”

“Right,” says Brian. He doesn’t waste any more time; his hand comes down on Roger’s ass and Roger makes a noise which he really hopes wasn’t a squeak. Brian doesn’t give him time to adjust to the sudden flare of heat; he spanks him again in the same spot, then gives him a blow on each thigh before landing the final strike over the curve of his ass.

“There,” Brian says, resting his hand on Roger’s ass because he seems to know it’s the best way to keep his attention; Roger makes a valiant attempt to focus. “All done. We forgive you, but don’t do that again, Rog.”

Roger cracks his eyes open and regrets it, because the room is still spinning slowly and languidly, and it makes it ten times harder to think rational thoughts. Brian pulls him upright, which helps a bit, then guides him to lie down on the sofa.

“Sleep it off,” he says, pulling the throw up over Roger. His hand rests briefly on Roger's shoulder and Roger soaks up that word: forgiven.

John fetches him another glass of water and puts it on the table just out of reach, so that he can’t knock it over by accident. Freddie comes over too and sits down on the end of the sofa. He lifts Roger’s head and places it on his own lap, threading his fingers gently through Roger’s hair, much like Roger had watched Brian do to him. It feels as comforting as it had looked.

“Silly boy,” Freddie murmurs, but his voice is fond. Roger sighs and turns his face into Freddie’s lap, and finally lets himself drift off.


	13. John

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm back!! Sorry for the wait I got a kitten and... well, I got a kitten. I've been living the kitten life. 
> 
> This was just an excuse for me to write about cuddly boys ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

John was proud of the hairbrush idea when Brian’s birthday rolled around. Brian is more hair than man, after all, and as main disciplinarian in the band the hairbrush fitted into that perfect Venn diagram of gifts; practical in two senses.

It’s fairly rare that the hairbrush makes an appearance in band discipline, but in the months that have passed since its introduction, it’s quickly gained a reputation as Something To Be Avoided At All Costs.

John assumed he knew why. He’s heard Freddie yelp and watched Brian wince and seen Roger fidget gingerly in his seat after a hairbrush episode.

It’s not until he faces the hairbrush himself that he _really_ gets why the others avoid it so much, though.

Brian’s hand is on his back, rubbing soothing circles into his shoulder blades. “You can get up when you’re ready, Deaky,” he says gently. “No rush.”

It’s a good job there’s no rush. John isn’t sure his legs could take his weight even if he wanted them to; he’s still face-down in Brian’s lap and everything from his waist down feels like it’s turned to jelly. Except for his ass, of course, which is burning something fierce.

Ten swats, this time, delivered by the hairbrush because it’s not the first time he’s been punished for failing to tell his bandmates when he has a problem. He injured his hand at the weekend and suffered through nearly two full days of studio work before Roger spotted the problem; Brian promptly told him to rest, return when his hand was better, and face the music when he did.

He’s definitely faced the music. He’s never been punished with the hairbrush before now and he never wants to again. He’s fairly sure he would even take Brian scolding him for his stubbornness and his lack of self-care over the brush, and normally he dreads Brian’s ability to make him twice as ashamed of his behaviour with just a single look.

He can’t believe the sting in his ass isn’t subsiding, isn’t fading at all. He grits his teeth and tries to focus on something else, but there’s little to distract him. He can hear the murmur of Roger and Freddie’s conversation somewhere close by and he can feel the warmth of Brian’s hand on his back, but it’s not enough to drag his mind from the _ouchouchouch_ it insists on chanting with every throb of pain in his ass.

John sucks in a steadying breath and manoeuvres himself to sit up. Brian’s hand moves with him, helping him.

He stands between Brian’s spread knees because there’s no way he wants to sit down any time soon and cautiously sorts out his jeans. Brian gives him an assessing look, making sure he’s alright, and John forces himself to give him a faint smile in return.

“Sorry,” he say, and he means it. He didn’t tell them about his injury because he hadn’t wanted to slow recording down, but he’d known all along that it was a bad idea, that he was making it worse and that his bandmates would want to know. He’d known, also, exactly what would happen if they found out. And of course they did. They practically live in each other’s pockets half the time, whether they’re on tour or in the studio; they know each other better than anyone.

They seem closer than ever at the moment. John doesn’t think it’s because Brian and Freddie are together now, because he and Roger are definitely part of it. He thinks there’s a good chance that the discipline system has played a part, lent them stability they didn’t have before, and despite the fact that he’s suffering the consequences of that very same system, the thought cheers him. His smile becomes a little steadier and Brian returns it, pulls him in for a hug.

“We forgive you,” he says. His hair is tickling John’s nose but John just leans into him, tired out and glad his ordeal is over. “We care about you, Deaky, I don’t care how many times we have to do this if that’s what it takes to get through to you. We want to know if you’re not okay because we want to help.”

He nods into Brian’s shoulder. He doesn’t hear Roger and Freddie approach but he feels Roger’s hand settle on his shoulder; Freddie perches himself on one of Brian’s knees, effectively worming his way into the middle of their hug.

“He’s right,” Freddie says, a bit muffled from where his face is presumably pressed into Brian’s side. “But then, he’s always right, aren’t you Bri?”

“Don’t make me pick up the hairbrush again,” Brian says, deadpan, and Freddie snickers.

John doesn’t reply. An unpleasant thought has struck him, and no matter how much his ass burns or Brian’s hair tickles his nose, he can’t shake it off.

He’s dealt out plenty with the hairbrush. He gave Brian thirty five strikes with it for lying about his relationship with Freddie, and he made Brian use it on Freddie on that same day. He’s spanked Freddie with the brush himself and he’s suggested using it on Roger when Brian has been undecided about what punishment to give.

Now he’s feeling sorry for himself and they’re all coddling him because he’s been given ten swats with it himself. It’s nothing really compared to what he’s given out and he’s sure he wasn’t this tender with any of the others after their punishments. It doesn’t come naturally to him, but then, it doesn’t really come all that naturally to Brian either. He still does it.

He can’t stop thinking about the fact that he ordered Brian to smack Freddie with it thirty times, then gave Brian thirty five himself. If this is how much it hurts after ten, he can’t imagine how bad that must have been for them.

For the first time, the swell of guilt he feels post-punishment is worse than the guilt he felt before he was spanked.

“John?” Freddie questions, perceptive as ever, and John realises he’s been silent for a beat too long.

“I’m fine,” he lies, and really, given what he’s just been punished for, he should know better – but there’s no way he feels capable of putting into words exactly what’s wrong at this moment in time. “Just tired.”

“Shall we call it a day?” Roger asks.

Brian hums his agreement and gives John one final squeeze – gently – before letting go of him. John steps away.

Before Brian can get up, Freddie snatches a kiss. Brian’s smiling fondly, but all John can think about is how wrecked he looked after John made him use the brush on Freddie. He swallows.

He joins in with the general chatter as they pack up for the day, but his heart’s not in it. They don’t push him, though he catches Freddie casting him a shrewd look once or twice.

They decide to go out for some drinks, but John makes his excuses and hurries off home at the first chance he gets. None of them are surprised – they all know how exhausting it can be, the build up to the punishment and then the aftermath. Freddie still eyes him with something close to concern as he leaves.

-

Freddie is many things. ‘Relentless’ happens to feature quite high on that list.

He gets John alone at the first chance he gets – ambushes, really, because John really has just popped outside for a bit of fresh air because he’s not a fan of the new cigs Roger is currently favouring.

The swing of the door beside him announces Freddie’s arrival and Freddie doesn’t hesitate before launching straight in.

“You know, considering the fact that you faced that blasted hairbrush for pretending to be fine when you’re not, I really thought you might know better by now.”

John looks up, opening his mouth around an automatic denial, and finds Freddie treating him to his best unimpressed expression. He closes his mouth. Freddie raises an eyebrow and waits.

“Just… got a lot on my mind,” John says, vaguely.

Freddie is silent, but John isn’t foolish enough to hope that he accepts that as a reasonable reply. He’s just waiting him out.

There’s nothing for it, John realises. He can’t pretend nothing is wrong, because they won’t accept that. He’s going to have to say something, and he’s got two options: to tell the truth or to lie.

Lying would just make the situation worse. He doesn’t want to admit that he’s been stewing guiltily about past events and bring up past punishments, but he supposes he owes them the truth. It’s guilt over his treatment of them which has got him lurking and angsting outside the nearest fire exit, after all.

He stares very hard at the ground and then says, in a rush, “I didn’t realise what I – how much it – it hurts more than I thought.”

That hangs in the air between them for a moment and John winces at how stupid it sounds. He doesn’t quite dare look up.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” says Freddie after another moment of awkward silence.

“The hairbrush,” John says tiredly. “I didn’t realise how much the hairbrush hurts.”

“Oh.” Freddie’s tone has changed and John can hear the new concern even in that single syllable. “Did something go wrong? You should be sore today, but not _dreadfully_ sore – ” He comes closer, lays a hand on John’s arm, and John feels all the worse for it because the way Freddie says those words just reminds him that Freddie knows the difference between ‘sore’ and ‘dreadfully sore’, because John himself has handed out punishments without truly realising what he’s putting his bandmates through. He closes his eyes.

“Deaky?” Freddie says softly.

He doesn’t open his eyes. He doesn’t want to see the concern on Freddie’s face. “It’s not me. I’m fine. I mean – I didn’t realise how much it hurts when I – ” He stops and exhales shakily, eyes still firmly closed. “When I punished you and Bri for lying to me and Rog. I wouldn’t have made Bri give you so many if I…”

He trails off, feeling warm hands cup his face. “Deaky, darling,” says Freddie softly. His thumbs brush the soft skin near John’s temples. “Look at me.”

John opens his eyes without really meaning to. Freddie waits til he does, then lets go and steps back. His gaze is steady and calm and John feels some of the guilt in the pit of his stomach ease off, just slightly. Freddie wouldn’t be looking at him like that if he was angry about what happened, or if he was holding a grudge.

“We aren’t angry or upset about it, Deaky,” Freddie tells him firmly. “We’re fine. We accepted our punishment on that day and it’s over and done with.”

“I just feel bad,” John mumbles. “You took three times what I did and Brian even more.”

“Don’t close your eyes on me again, I’m not tall enough to keep prising them open,” Freddie says quickly.

That surprises a huff of laughter out of him. He keeps his eyes open obediently.

“Stop feeling bad about it,” Freddie says bluntly. When John opens his mouth, he lifts a finger and shakes his head. “No. I positively forbid it.” It’s just so typically Freddie and some of John’s reluctant amusement must show on his face, because Freddie brightens immediately. “Now come on, back inside.” He grabs John’s arm and tugs him along in his wake, adding, “And if I catch you stewing away to yourself for even one second I’ll be on you right away.”

-

Freddie insists on everyone coming back to his place when they’re done with recording for the day. He’s in the kind of mood where it’s impossible to say no and the other two clearly recognise it as well; they just nod along and pile into the car as Freddie decrees, and pile out again when they get to Garden Lodge.

John is fairly sure that Freddie’s insistence on everyone staying together for the evening has something to do with his conversation with Freddie earlier. Freddie whisks Roger off into the kitchen to choose drinks with him at the first chance he gets, leaving John alone with Brian. Brian’s a bit tired but in a good enough mood, and they lounge together on Freddie’s obnoxiously comfortable settees, chatting idly until Freddie and Roger return with drinks.

It helps. John doesn’t tell Brian what’s been worrying him, doesn’t feel he needs to after unburdening his concerns to Freddie, but that’s fine. The last of his guilt eases off as he and Brian chat and he realises that Freddie was right, that he has no need to feel bad about past punishments.

They start off with vodka tonics but none of them are particularly in the mood for all that much alcohol. Roger decides he wants a coffee before long, and from there it isn’t much of a leap to Freddie declaring that everyone must try the hot chocolate he’s recently discovered.

They all end up huddled on the settee with an old film playing on Freddie’s TV and a mug of hot chocolate each. It’s a far cry from the rock ‘n roll lifestyle and it makes something warm settle in John’s chest. It reminds him of the early days when success always seemed just out of reach but they believed in it and in each other, even when nobody else did.

He’s wedged in between Roger and Brian because despite the fact that Freddie’s living room is enormous and there’s plenty of room, they’ve all chosen to sit on the same settee, nearly on each other’s laps. There’s no ‘nearly’ about it in Freddie and Brian’s case; Freddie is tucked up neatly to Brian’s side, his head on Brian’s shoulder and his legs stretched out across Brian’s knees. His feet are nearly in John’s lap but John doesn’t mind.

Roger seems to be paying more attention to the cat perched on his own lap than on the film, tickling it behind the ears. The cat lets out a steady rumbling purr and Roger smiles, looking half-asleep. His head keeps lolling just slightly, veering ever closer to John’s shoulder every time his eyelids droop.

“I think you and I might be the last two awake at this rate,” Brian murmurs to him after a while, when Freddie’s clearly nodded off and Roger’s breathing has evened out. Even the cat has gone quiet.

The film plays quietly on in the background beyond the four chocolate-stained mugs piled on Freddie’s coffee table. The murmur of it is lulling John to sleep himself. Roger is warm beside him and Brian’s shoulder has never looked so inviting.

“Think that crown might belong to you,” he says around a yawn.

Brian just smiles. “I’m told I make a very comfortable pillow,” he says dryly, and that’s all the invitation John needs.


	14. Miami finds out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As prompted on a previous chapter: Miami finds out about the boys' system...

By now, Miami is well used to meetings that should take one or two hours at most taking up an entire afternoon. He’d expected as such, when Freddie asked him to take over management of the band after kicking Reid out. He knows what _Queen_ can be like, knows the ins and outs of their perfectionism and their bickering and their absolute refusal to agree with each other – until someone else from outside the band disagrees too, and then the four of them tend to side with each other as though they haven’t just spend the last hour arguing.

He likes to think he’s a good manager. He’s calm, hopefully fair, and he’s got a lot of patience, which is definitely necessary. Especially on days like today.  
Freddie’s in a bit of a mood. He turned up late to the meeting, ostensibly because his car got stuck in traffic, though Miami suspects the real reason might be the new watch he’s obviously been shopping for and which he keeps turning around his wrist to admire it rather than listen to what anybody else has got to say. When he does listen, he disagrees with whatever he hears. He has yet to offer any alternatives, though, and Miami can tell it’s annoying the others. He's just being disruptive. Even Roger is beginning to glare a bit. If Freddie notices, he doesn’t seem too bothered.

That is, until Brian interrupts Freddie’s (merciless) criticism of the latest marketing campaign Miami had been talking them through with a pointed, “Freddie, would you mind popping outside with me for a quick word?”

Freddie him a look that can only be described as challenging. “Oh but Brian, dear, I’m really quite comfortable where I am.” His tone is all sweetness and light but Miami knows him well enough to detect the steel glinting beneath the sugar coating. “Can’t it wait?”

Brian lays a hand on Freddie’s arm. Freddie tenses at his touch, which is – interesting. He’s heard that Freddie and Brian are seeing each other, of course he has, though neither of them has mentioned it to him. There’s no reason to, after all. None of his business. But he’s known the four of them for many years now and he knows just how tactile they can be with each other. He’s seen enough puppy piles in hungover hazes on tour buses, after all. They’ve always been free and easy with their touches. Until now, apparently; as Brian’s hand closes around Freddie’s wrist, Freddie actually leans back and goes to yank his arm free with an annoyed set to his mouth.

John gives a little cough.

Freddie glances at him, then at Roger. Roger meets his gaze and gives a little shrug. Freddie sighs and stands up.

“Fine,” he says, a touch petulantly. “We’ll have your _quick word_.”

Brian stands too, less graceful than Freddie as he unfolds his gangly limbs to tower above his boyfriend. Miami notices that he keeps a hand on Freddie’s wrist.

“Is there a spare office or anything that we could use for five minutes?” Brian asks politely.

It takes Miami a moment to realise he’s being spoken to. He raises his eyebrows but nods his head towards the door. “There’s a storage room. The next door along to the left.”

“Thank you.” Brian nudges Freddie out of the door, which swings decisively shut behind them.

Miami looks at the remaining members of the band. Roger is examining his nails. John is staring out of the window. Both are giving off a very deliberate ‘nothing unusual to see here’ vibe.

Miami gets the distinct feeling he is being left out of something.

He clears his throat and shuffles the folder in front of him, scanning down the piece of paper at the forefront to try and remind himself of what he’d been about to say. It’s hard to concentrate, though; he can hear the hum of Brian and Freddie’s voices from the other side of the wall, Brian’s slightly raised and Freddie’s pitched low.

Miami looks down at his schedule again and opens his mouth to ask John and Roger what they think about the possibility of extending the next tour by a week. Before he can, however, there’s an unexpected noise from next door.

It’s muffled but unmistakeable; a slap, followed by a muted yelp.

Miami blinks, looking automatically to the wall as though he expects to be able to see Brian and Freddie through it. In the corner of his vision he sees Roger staring at the wall too, wide-eyed. John is still looking out of the window with great determination.

A second slap. Miami hears the hum of Brian’s voice again, then a third slap, which earns another groan.

What the _hell_ is going on in there?

Miami’s always liked Brian. He can be infuriating at times with his perfectionism and his stubbornness, but then, they all can. He’s always considered Brian to be quite gentle. He’d never imagined that Brian would be one to _hit_ a partner.

He can’t imagine what else that noise could possibly be. Discomfort twists in his belly.

What can he do? He mentally sorts through his options, groping hopefully for a clear cut solution, and finds nothing. Nothing in his career has prepared him for being in this position, where one member of the band he’s managing seems to be hurting another member.

He’s got to talk to Freddie, he realises, and he gets an instant sinking feeling. Freddie is so intensely private and Miami doesn’t much fancy his chances at getting him to open up.

But he’s got to try. He’s got a duty to look after the band. He’s got a duty to look after Freddie.

There’s a sour taste in his mouth as Brian and Freddie return to his office. Freddie files in behind Brian, quiet and meek. Miami scans him sharply, but he can’t see any physical signs of Brian hitting him. His head is down but he lifts it to shoot Roger an indescribable look and Miami can see no bruises, no handprints or red marks on his face from any kind of strike.

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe that wasn’t what he heard. God, he hopes so.

Brian settles back onto the couch, arranging his absurdly long legs so that they won’t trip people up, and leaves room for Freddie. Freddie tucks himself into the little space and  
Brian slings an arm around the back of the couch. His hand rests gently at the nape of Freddie’s neck and Freddie gives him a small smile.

Miami feels completely wrongfooted, but he’s got four pairs of expectant eyes on him and anyway, this isn’t the place for a confrontation. No, that needs to be private.

“Right, if we’re all sorted and ready to listen now,” he mutters, and the meeting continues.

-

He collars John afterwards. He’s not ready to face Brian, hasn’t sorted out in his head what he wants to say to Freddie yet. Between John and Roger he thinks John is probably the more likely to be helpful in this situation.

“Of course,” John says when Miami asks to have a word, “What is it?”

Miami sits on the edge of his desk with a sigh. “It’s – I thought – well. How are you, John?”

There’s a short silence. John eyes him for a moment or two and then says, in a tone of vacant politeness to match his own, “Fine, thanks, Jim. I’m fine. How are you?”

“Fine,” Miami says weakly. He’s really not sure where to go from here.

John waits for a beat, then says, “What was it you wanted to have a word about, exactly?”

“It was about – er, everyone. How you’re on getting on. Just – just wanted to check up. You know, make sure all is well.” There’s a tone of forced cheer in his voice now too and Miami cringes himself to hear it.

“We’re good.” John gives a little nod. “No drama. At the moment.” He gives a tight smile.

At last, something resembling an opening. “Oh? No drama at all?” he says. “Nothing – nothing going with, er, you know, Fred and Brian?”

John raises his eyebrows. “You mean the fact that they’re in a relationship?”

“Didn’t see it coming, I must say,” Miami says. John’s giving him a look he doesn’t like, as though he’s trying to suss out whether Miami is okay with Freddie and Brian being together. He goes on, in an attempt to rid John of that expression: “I suppose they… compliment each other, really.”

John nods again. “They do. They’re good for each other, I think.”

“Good, good.” Silence falls again, before Miami sighs. There’s nothing for it. He’s just going to have to spit it out. “Look, John. This is terribly awkward and I don’t want to interfere, but – earlier, during the meeting, when Brian took Freddie out – ”

John’s expression changes immediately for a brief second before he manages to cover it up with a neutral mask; he looks startled and slightly embarrassed and perhaps even a little bit guilty, like a schoolboy caught out in a lie. Miami blinks at him, struck by the sudden realisation that whatever is going on with Freddie and Brian, John _definitely_ knows.

He doesn’t say anything, though, so Miami ploughs on. “I like Brian, I really do, and that’s aside from him being an excellent musician, but – well, you heard the same as I did. If he’s hitting Freddie, if he’s hurting him, then that’s abuse and I really must – ”

“He’s not,” John interrupts quickly, “he’s not abusing him. Brian would never – he’d never lay a hand on Freddie like that. He’s just – ” He breaks off suddenly, as though biting back whatever he was about to say.

“He’s just what?” Miami presses. John doesn’t answer. “John, this is serious. All I have to go on is the fact that Brian made Freddie leave the room with him, and then I heard Brian hit him and I heard Freddie cry out. I’m _Queen’s_ manager, I can’t exactly sit by and do nothing if I think for one second that the guitarist is abusing the singer, can I?”

“He’s not abusing him,” John repeats. He’s looking flustered, two red spots on his cheeks betraying his discomfort with the situation. “He’s – look, it’s complicated, I don’t know what I can say, but I promise, Brian is _not_ abusing Freddie.”

“But something is going on,” Miami says, watching John’s expression shutter up again. “Are you telling me I didn’t hear Brian hit him?”

John winces. “It’s not – I know what it sounded like, but… it’s not what you think.”

The excuse falls flat to the ground between them. Miami would love nothing more than to nod briskly, sweep out of the door and start to think about what to eat for dinner tonight rather than carry on this conversation, but he can’t. He owes it to Freddie at the very least to be sure.

“John,” he says, and John’s eyes snap up to meet his. “If you don’t tell me what’s going on, I’ll just call in Freddie, and Brian, and Roger too, until one of you tells me the truth.”

“I haven’t lied,” John protests, but he does look faintly alarmed at the prospect of Miami calling in the others. “Look, Jim, I – I’m not sure it’s really my place to say, at least in this situation, but… well, we…”

“We what?” Miami prompts. Finally, he seems to getting somewhere; John still looks agitated, but also a bit resigned. He’s going to spill the beans.

“We wanted to protect the band,” John says slowly. His gaze is fixed firmly over Miami’s shoulder, avoiding his gaze. “We were arguing all the time and the music was suffering – you know – and after Freddie came back to us, we… we decided to take action to make sure we didn’t get things fester between us again.” A long pause, and then, in a rush: “So we decided that we would discipline each other where needed to stop bad behaviour and Freddie was playing up in the meeting earlier so Brian took him out and that’s what you heard.”

Silence. Miami blinks. He’s not sure he understood half of what John just said.

“Discipline?” he asks.

John groans. “Jim, don’t make me say it.”

“Say what?”

John gives him a look Freddie would be proud of, then says, “Spanking.”

Oh. _Oh_.

Miami is fairly sure he’s blushing. “I – you mean – ”

“Yes,” John says in a long-suffering tone. “You heard Brian spanking Fred.”

Miami is definitely blushing. “And Freddie – ”

“Yes, he agreed to it. We all did, it’s not just – we’ve got rules for it, it’s for everyone. It helps – it helps us work things out,” John says weakly.

Miami rubs at his temples. Whatever he may have been expecting, this was not it.

“Brian’s definitely not hurting him?” he double-checks.

John rolls his eyes this time. “Well, it’s not meant to be _fun_. But no, he’s not hurting him in the way you thought he was. And it’s not always spanking, though… that’s the most common punishment.”

Miami doesn’t know what his expression looks like, but he assumes at least a little bit of his internal confusion and conflict must show on his face, because John sighs and says, “Look, I can show you our list of rules if that helps? So you feel you know what’s going on. And you can see I’m telling the truth.”

Miami nods quickly, because it’s not that he suspects that John’s lying, but – well, it’s a lot to take in. Having something solid to confirm everything John has said will help, and if he’s honest, rules sound comforting and familiar; something to put his mind at rest, to reassure him that they’re being safe at the very least. “That would – that would help. Thank you, John.”

“Can I go now?”

“Yes, yes, of course – ”

John is out of the door before Miami can even finish his sentence.

-

The next time Queen are due to be in the building, John pops by his office early with a piece of paper folded up in his pocket. It’s rumpled and worn but he places it carefully on Miami’s desk without comment.

Miami picks it up, then puts it down again. He looks up at John.

John arches an eyebrow at him.

“I have to ask,” Miami says quickly, “because I’m going to be very embarrassed if I don’t. The four of you, are you – ?”

“Are we…”

“Brian and Freddie,” Miami says, fumbling for a way to say it, “they’re together, I know that. I just mean – is it only them, or are the four of you – ”

John has to know what he’s trying to get at, but he tilts his head in innocent question. Damn him.

“Is this a sex thing?” Miami blurts out desperately. “Am I going to regret reading this?”

John grins. “No,” he says, “and no.” He pauses. “Though I do look forward to telling Roger you thought that.”

Miami grimaces. He picks up the paper – still with some trepidation – and reads.

The slight knot of worry he’s been carrying around since John gave him his vague explanation eases. This system of theirs is clearly intended to be fair. It’s not singling anybody out, and the focus really does seem to be on protecting the band dynamics.

And to his relief, there is indeed no mention of sex. He really hadn’t needed those mental images.

He looks back up at John and nods. “Thank you. That does settle my mind.”

John just nods back at him. As he goes to take the piece of paper, there’s a quick knock at the door and Freddie walks in without waiting for an answer, Brian and Roger behind him.

“Deaky, there you are – ” Freddie begins, only to stop in his tracks when his eyes land on the piece of paper between Miami and John.

Miami has never seen Freddie go red before, but it turns out there’s a first time for everything.

“Afternoon, boys,” he says pleasantly as John takes the paper back and tucks it hastily into his pocket. “Take a seat.”

Brian nudges Freddie in the back, prompting him to do so. Miami had planned to just get on with the meeting – he hadn’t really thought he’d mention his newfound knowledge at all, but he’s honestly just so relieved that everything is alright with the band, that they are taking care of each other, and he can’t help the urge to have a little fun.

“John was just telling me all about your fascinating system for when someone steps out of line,” he says brightly.

“He mentioned that you’d asked, yes,” says Brian weakly. “He didn’t say you wanted to see the rules, though.”

“A good set of rules. Very thorough.” Miami’s mouth twitches. Brian becomes very interested in toying with the hem of his shirt. “We were just saying, weren’t we John, that it might be helpful to involve me in your little system a bit more.”

“Yes, we were,” says John, catching on as he takes a seat beside Roger. Miami allows himself a quick glance. Roger’s mouth is hanging open. Miami shuffles his papers about to try and quell his urge to laugh. “We thought it might help to have a higher authority to go to, if the four of us can’t agree on who is in the wrong.”

“We’ve managed just fine until now,” Freddie mumbles.

“Mm. I was just thinking, it would certainly ensure that my meetings run a lot more smoothly, wouldn’t it? If I had the power to, ah, take matters into my own hands,” Miami says.  
He risks another glance to take in their expressions; Brian look astonished, Roger is still gawping, and Freddie looks nothing short of horrified, and that’s what does Miami in – he gives a rather undignified snort of laughter, which sets John off in turn.

“Oh Fred, he’s joking,” John says when he’s regained his breath, “we never discussed anything of the sort.”

“I fucking hate you both, I hope you realise that,” Freddie announces.

“Now, now,” Miami says, “I hardly think that sort of language is conducive for a productive meeting, do you?”

Freddie buries his face in Brian’s shoulder with a groan. Miami picks up his papers again and grins to himself. Yes, he thinks to himself, he has definitely found a way to make his meetings with Queen run a little more smoothly.


	15. Roger, Freddie & John

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For everyone who asked for the following: general mischief, Deaky the peanut-thrower and poor Bri getting ganged up on.

It is, Brian thinks, one of _those_ weeks.

In many ways it’s a nice week. It’s warm for autumn and London is looking very pretty. He’s woken up next to Freddie every morning so far, to sleepy kisses and, when Freddie was in a particularly sweet mood, a good morning blowjob. They’ve got a show coming up at the weekend, a chance for the fans to come and have a listen to their latest album – it’s not part of a tour, so there’s none of the fuss and stress that comes with touring. Just the excitement of playing their music live and getting the chance to enjoy the electric atmosphere of the crowd as a one-off.

All in all, it should be a good week. Would be, too, if it wasn’t for the fact that his bandmates seem determined to drive him up the wall.

Their focus is all over the place today, even John’s. Brian is used to Freddie and Roger distracting each other but he’s also used to having Deaky to back him up when it comes to dragging their attention back, so it’s not all together a pleasant surprise to find John giggling away with the other two at the slightest opportunity. They’re meant to be rehearsing for the show. Brian is trying his hardest not to get grumpy about it, but they keep looking at him as they laugh. It’s off-putting, to say to the least.

Quite what they’re giggling at, he has no idea. Roger had mocked him when he first came in that morning sporting a rather vivid love bite on his throat, courtesy of Freddie, but he’d been expecting that and there’s no way it’s still the cause of their giggles.

It’s definitely something to do with him, though. They’re grinning far too much for his liking.

He’s relieved, if still a little grumpy, when Freddie finally breaks away from the trio and comes to him. He goes straight in for a cuddle; Brian gladly wraps his arms around Freddie’s back.

“What’s up with you three today?” he asks.

Freddie shrugs. He tips his head back and smiles up at Brian. “Just having a bit of fun,” he says.

He stretches up for a kiss and Brian relaxes into him automatically, his hands settling on Freddie’s waist. Freddie responds by reaching up until his hands are twined around Brian’s neck. One sneaks into his hair and Brian tries not to be too obvious about the shiver that runs through him as Freddie’s fingers run through his curls.

Roger wolf-whistles at them from the corner and then there’s another outbreak of muffled laughter from him and John.

Freddie pulls away from him and glances over at the corner coyly. Brian scowls a bit.

“You ought to still be dressed as a schoolgirl,” he says sourly, “giggling like that all the time.”

“Kinky,” says Roger.

Freddie shakes his head. “Ignore them, Bri, darling.”

Brian tries. Truly, he does. Freddie at least is a little more receptive than he has been when Brian tries to get them to focus again; he agrees to sitting down and going over the setlist and calls Roger and John over too.

As they come over, Brian feels something touch the back of his head lightly. He twitches his head away, one hand rising to touch the place where he had felt something.

Freddie grabs his hand before he can. “It was just Deaky,” he says.

John appears from behind Brian and sits down next to him. “There was an insect about to land on you,” he tells Brian. “I was just knocking it off.”

Brian still feels an urge to touch the back of his head just to make sure but Freddie still has hold of his hand, entwining their fingers together. Brian can’t help but smile at him. He lets Freddie carry on whilst he pulls the latest setlist towards him.

-

In hindsight, given the mood his bandmates have been in, perhaps he should have been a tad more suspicious.

It’s Roger who gives the game away. They’ve gone over the setlist, they’ve argued over the encore – on the last tour they took it in turns to choose which encore song to do and it’s Brian’s turn this time, so he’s sticking to his guns and insisting on _Big Spender._ Freddie has agreed, if a little sulkily.

They’re ready to go over the opening number when Brian notices that his shoelace is undone and crouches down to tie it.

“Oh, Bri, you’ve got another insect on you,” comes Roger’s voice from above, and then he feels Roger’s hand on his head doing – something.

Definitely not just batting away a fly. It’s too quick and heavy-handed for that, and the immediate badly-disguised snort of laughter from Freddie doesn’t help.

Brian straightens up slowly. Roger is grinning at him, looking far too pleased with himself.

He looks over at the other two. John’s grin mirrors Roger’s and Freddie is gazing back at him with an angelic smile that doesn’t suit him in the slightest.

Slowly, Brian raises a hand to his head. He feels around the back.

There’s something long and thin balanced precariously in his curls. He pulls it out before it can fall and brings it round to look at it blankly.

It’s a drumstick. At the sight of it, and probably helped along by Brian’s expression, Roger bursts out laughing.

He sets John and Freddie off too as Brian reaches behind and feels for more. Sure enough, it’s not long before his fingers close on something else – a cigarette, tucked neatly into his hair. He places it down on the nearest table beside the drumstick before he pulls out the third and – hopefully – final item that has taken residence in his curls; a stubby little half-worn pencil.

“Your face, Bri,” Roger gasps. He bends double, wheezing. Behind him, Freddie lets out a whoop of laughter which only makes Deaky laugh harder.

“Is that all?” Brian demands. “Is there anything else in my hair I should know about?”

None of them are in any fit state to answer him, but when Brian puts both hands to his hair and has a good feel, there doesn’t seem to be anything more. Granted, the sight of him shaking his curls out in an attempt to dislodge anything else they might have seen fit to leave there just sets them off giggling again.

Deaky is the first to get his composure back, red-faced and teary-eyed. “Sorry, Brian,” he says, though he doesn’t sound very sorry. “Too tempting.”

Brian just gives him a look.

Freddie is the next to calm down, sidling up to Brian and wrapping his arms around his waist. Brian grabs his wrists and unwraps them, holding him at arm’s length. Freddie pouts.

“I’m not cuddling you if you can’t be trusted not to stick things in my hair like a three-year-old.”

“Oh Bri, be fair. It’s at _least_ the game of a six-year-old.”

“Thin ice, Freddie.” He fixes Roger, still laughing, with another dark look. “You’re all on thin ice.”

“We consider ourselves warned. We’ll behave now,” Deaky promises, but looking at the matching grins the three of them are sporting, Brian isn’t so sure.

-

He was, he thinks with great resignation and perhaps a small amount of self-pity, absolutely right to be suspicious about his bandmates’ promise to behave.

They behaved well enough through the rest of rehearsals – a bit giddy, but not disruptively so. Brian had started to relax and enjoy himself too, once their fun seemed to include him rather than being at his expense.

Now they’re halfway through the show, though, the tide seems to have turned again.

Brian likes the moments where he gets to talk to the audience. He likes to introduce things in his own way, his own style, quieter than Freddie’s sweary exuberance but no less enthusiastic. The audience’s eyes are fixed on him, there’s anticipation in the air, and Brian feels a swell of joy when he thinks about his life and the fact that he gets to spend it doing this.

He tells them so, because he can, and because he thinks the audience appreciate a bit of honesty and humility. He can see a girl in the front row smiling at him and he smiles back as he gets earnest for just a moment and thanks them for their support.

“I promise I won’t go on for too long – ” he begins, and behind him Roger drums out a lazy _ba dum tshhhh_ as though the concept of Brian shutting up is some hilarious joke.

The moment is gone just like that; the audience laugh and Brian grits his teeth. He resists, manfully, the urge to turn round and glare at Roger, admittedly because he doesn’t particularly want to see Roger smirking back at him. He gets on with the next song instead and tries to lose himself in the music.

It works for a while. They sound good, he knows; Freddie sounds beautiful and strong and their music swells in perfect harmony. Freddie seems happy with how the show is going, pleased with the audience’s reaction. Brian watches him fondly and hopes he doesn’t look too goey-eyed about it.

He’s too distracted by watching Freddie and by the feel of the Red Special under his fingertips to notice the first few tiny missiles which get launched at him from further up the stage. When one of them sails over his shoulder however, it catches his eye; he looks away from Freddie and squints down at whatever it was that just flew by. It looks like a tiny pellet, visibly coated in dust under the harsh lights –

No. No, not a pellet. A peanut. A salted peanut.

Brian suddenly knows, without needing to check, that when he gets off stage and shakes his hair out, he is going to find a fair few peanuts lodged in there.

He looks upstage and John grin back at him, completely unrepentant.

Right, he thinks. Right.

Deaky has definitely earned himself a punishment. Roger’s teetering precariously close to one.

At least Freddie hasn’t done anything since the cigarette-in-hair incident, Brian thinks with some relief. He knows Roger well enough to know with some confidence that Roger will, most likely, do something to earn a trip over his knee between now and the end of the concert. He could do without having to punish all three of them.

His relief doesn’t last long. They get to the end of the show; Freddie bows and curtseys and spins at the front of the stage, blowing kisses left, right and centre. Brian’s ready for _Big Spender_. He delivers the opening notes, thrilling in the roar of the music…

… only for Freddie to launch into _Saturday Night’s Alright for Fighting_ with shameless gusto. Brian’s fingers slip on the strings and he winces as the groan of the guitar, fumbling to cover it and pick up the beat of this song instead.

He manages, but he’s hyper-aware of the ugly noise that came out of the Red Special and he glares at Freddie’s back as he twirls and sings centre-stage.

So much for not punishing all three of them. It was his turn to choose the encore, damn it, Freddie agreed to go along with whatever he chose. He can’t just change his mind at the last minute and –

Except, Brian realises, he didn’t change his mind at the last minute. John and Roger both started the Elton song without hesitation. Which means Freddie planned this.  
Brian’s glare intensifies.

His mind is less focus on the music and more focused on who deserves what punishment throughout the encore, and it must show on his face because as they head backstage when they’re finished, Freddie hastily hurries on ahead. Brian doesn’t bother to chase after him; he’s decided to let them stew for a bit anyway.

He waits until Roger and Deaky have followed Freddie into their dressing room and then calls out to the nearest roadies, asking them to keep the area private for a while. They acquiesce easily, no doubt assuming the band want to discuss how the show went. Which is, Brian thinks as he steps inside and closes the door firmly behind him, sort of true at least.

“So,” he says.

Freddie’s pouring a drink by the mirrors; he looks up as Brian enters and tries to look defiant, but Brian knows him well enough to see the sheepishness underneath the presence.

“Drink?” he asks.

Brian shakes his head. He looks at the other two; Roger’s sprawled out on an armchair, rotating his shoulders to work the ache from his arms. John already has a drink and is sipping at it meekly. In contrast to his grin from earlier he now looks, at least, a tiny bit sorry.

“When did you all decide to change the encore?” Brian questions.

“Bri, darling – ” Freddie begins.

“We’ve done _Big Spender_ to death,” Roger interrupts. “ _Saturday Night_ livened it up a bit, that’s all.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. I asked when you decided to change it. You know, without telling me, knowing you’d make me look stupid.”

A short silence follows his words. Brian shrugs. “Alright, fine. I don’t really need to know. I assume none of you are going to argue with whatever punishment I see fit?”

Another silence. Brian looks at each of them in turn. Deaky looks resigned. Roger is scowling. Freddie squirms and avoids his gaze.

“I thought as much,” he says calmly. “You’re all getting the same because you’re all as bad as each other. I’m going to spank each of you fifteen times. Tomorrow.”

That gets the reaction he wants. Roger huffs and Deaky looks faintly worried, but it’s Freddie whose head shoots up to fix Brian with a beseeching look. He hates having to wait.

“Brian…”

“No, Freddie. No arguments. Fifteen each, and you can all have a good long think about your upcoming punishments tonight.”

Brian leaves them to stew on that; he turns and leaves without another word.

-

Roger and John are both already at the studio by the time Brian and Freddie arrive the next morning. Brian went back to Freddie’s last night, after some thought, because he didn’t want Freddie thinking that the punishment had any bearing on their relationship. It doesn’t; they’re separate issues. Freddie had been visibly relieved when he got home to find Brian nursing a drink in the living room, but he’s been quiet all the same. He’s not tried to argue his way out of it, at least. He knows Brian too well for that.

This morning he found Brian poking through the various creams and salves they own, trying to choose which one to bring to help soothe his hand which will no doubt be aching before long. Freddie had wordlessly handed him the brush instead, which Brian supposes is Freddie trying to say he’s sorry without having to actually say it.

Brian doesn’t mind. He’ll hear him say it soon enough.

Roger and John fidget nervously as Brian sets his bag down on the floor. The studio is empty save for the four of them and it seems very quiet.

Brian quirks an eyebrow at them. “Well?”

“We assumed – we thought you would want to get it over and done with,” says Deaky cautiously.

Brian hums as though considering. He had planned that – he doesn’t like the biting tension in the air any more than they do, though he’s glad of it if it means he won’t have to put up with the giggling and the pranks all day. There’s something he wants first, though.

“I think you should tell me what you did wrong,” he says. He turns to Freddie and takes his wrist, tugs him forwards so that he’s standing next to the other two. Then Brian steps back and surveys them, all three stood in a line facing him with matching guilty expressions. “And I think you should ask me to punish you.”

Roger flushes a bit at that. Freddie studies the floor. Deaky glances at both of them, then looks back at Brian.

“We were a pain in the arse,” he says.

“Yeah, you were,” Brian agrees. He waits.

“We were disruptive,” Deaky goes on, a bit hesitantly. “During rehearsals, messing about… and during the show. We left you out of our plans.”

Brian hums again. He looks away from John, fixing his gaze on Roger.

“I put a drumstick in your hair,” Roger says.

Brian nods.

“I… shouldn’t have done that,” Roger admits. When no answer is forthcoming, he adds, “And I shouldn’t have messed about during the show, with the drums… you were having a nice moment with the audience… I shouldn’t have made them laugh at you.”

Brian nods again, satisfied. His gaze slides along to Freddie.

Freddie is looking up at him through his lashes, but Brian is used to this; he steels himself, not letting himself fall for the instinctive urge to wrap his arms around Freddie, press a kiss to his temple and promise everything is alright. This is for Freddie’s own good, he reminds himself. The discipline system protects the band.

“I should have sung the encore you chose,” Freddie says. “Because it was your choice and it wasn’t fair of me to override it. And to not warn you.” He pauses, then admits, “It was my idea, not theirs, they just went along with it.”

“Thank you for telling me so.” Brian waits, but they just look back at him uncertainly. “I told you to ask me for it,” he prompts.

His gaze bores into the three of them in turn. It doesn’t surprise him when it’s Freddie who makes the first move. He tips his chin up just a bit and says, “Please punish us for breaking the rules, Bri.”

Brian considers making the other two repeat it but the way they’re looking at him, all nervous trepidation, makes him decide against it. “You deserve it?” he asks instead.

All three of them nod.

“Alright, then.” Brian grabs the nearest chair and pulls it over. He sits down with his legs spread and leans down to fish the hairbrush out of his back. Then he looks at the three of  
them, weighing them up. “Roger,” he decides. “You first.”

To be fair, Roger doesn’t dawdle too much as he makes his way over to Brian. He’s got a lot better at being spanked, but he still seems to find this bit particularly hard – submitting to it in the first place. Brian helps him when he fumbles with his jeans. “Over my lap, Rog,” he says quietly. The hand he puts on Roger’s back to help steady him when he bends over is gentle.

“I’m not going to make you say it all again,” he says once Roger is in position. “You know why you’re here.” He glances up to make sure that John and Freddie are watching, then looks back down at Roger, stretched over his lap.

He tightens his grip on the brush and brings it down swiftly. Roger jerks with a bitten-off groan. Brian waits for a moment, watching as the pale skin of Roger’s ass floods with colour in the shape of the brush.

He doesn’t hang about after that; he brings the brush down again and again, spreading the blows out. Soon Roger’s ass is flushed and red all over and he’s whimpering, kicking out without meaning to every time the brush comes down. Brian lets him; he pauses halfway through just briefly to give him a soothing rub before carrying on again, not wanting to drag it out any more than he has to.

Just before the last blow hands he says, “I don’t appreciate being ganged up on, alright?”

Roger gives a shaky little nod. Brian spanks him one last time with the brush and then sets it down.

“That’s it. We’re all done, Rog. You did well. Well done,” he soothes. He rubs Roger’s back, letting him get his breath back. He feels Roger trying to surreptitiously wipe his tears against Brian’s leg but he doesn’t comment on it.

He doesn’t have to ask Roger to apologise; when Brian helps him up off his lap, Roger mumbles an immediate but heartfelt, “Sorry, Bri.” He buries his head in Brian’s neck at the first chance and Brian has to fight back a little smile when he hears another, “really sorry,” mumbled against his shoulder.

“It’s alright, Rog. I forgive you,” he assures him. He lets Roger hold onto him until he’s sure that Roger’s gathered enough of his wits to be able to stand up and take direction. Then he gently helps him up and murmurs, “Swap places with Freddie, alright? And I want you to watch, you and John.”

Roger nods. Brian helps him do up his jeans again and then watches as Roger returns to the line-up. Freddie obviously heard what Brian said because he reluctantly steps forward. Brian points at his lap. Freddie hangs his head, face hidden, but does as he’s told, coming closer until he’s standing beside Brian.

He doesn’t need help wriggling out of his jeans but from the little glimpse Brian can catch of his face, there’s a discomfort there that gives Brian pause. Freddie is about to lean over and assume his position over Brian’s lap when Brian takes hold of his arm to stop him.

“Freddie?” he asks quietly.

Freddie looks at him properly at last and Brian is surprised to see his eyes are already a bit wet, a couple of tears clinging to his lashes.

Brian reaches up to brush them away. Freddie leans into his touch and sniffs.

“What is it, Fred?” he asks softly.

Freddie shakes his head. “Later,” he says.

When Brian opens his mouth to argue Freddie gives him a pleading little look. “Please, Brian – I’ll tell you after, just – please, punish me.”

Brian is concerned, but he reminds himself that he trusts Freddie in this much – he knows Freddie wouldn’t push Brian to spank him if his tears were related to that at all. He leans back as Freddie bends over and sighs a bit at the very familiar sight of him bent over Brian’s lap.

He gives Freddie a little pat to warn him he’s about to begin, then brings the brush down with his other hand. Freddie hisses and squirms. Brian sees his shoulders tense as he braces himself for the next strike and murmurs, “Relax, Freddie.”

It takes a moment, but he does; Brian gets on with spanking him, watching as Freddie’s ass turns as red as Roger’s. Glancing up, he sees Deaky wince at the slap of the brush against Freddie’s skin, Freddie’s muted little yelp. He’s got his mouth pressed against Brian’s knee to try and muffle the noises, but it does little good.

When he reaches fifteen, Brian says the same to him as he did to Roger: “No ganging up, alright? We’re a band of four.”

Freddie goes tense in his lap – Brian feels it, like Freddie would be curling in on himself if he could. He doesn’t reply and he doesn’t try to get up off Brian’s lap even though they’re finished. Brian has to half-lift him off and even then Freddie immediately latches onto him, hiding his face in Brian’s chest and holding on tight.

Brian rubs a hand over Freddie’s shoulder blades. “Tell me what’s up, Freddie, please,” he murmurs.

He hears Freddie take a shuddery little breath, and then he does. “I didn’t mean to gang up on you,” Freddie whispers into his neck. “I didn’t – I never want to make you feel left out.” His voice goes tight like he’s fending off more tears and Brian’s heart clenches.

Of course Freddie, who has been an outsider for most of his life, would feel the sting of getting left out of something all too keenly. Of course he would feel upset at the realisation that he did as much to his bandmate – and his boyfriend.

Brian squeezes him. “I’m fine, Freddie,” he says gently, and he presses a kiss to Freddie’s hair. “Really. You don’t have to feel guilty over it, you’ve been punished, it’s behind us now. I know you didn’t mean anything nasty by it.”

“Sorry,” Freddie whispers again.

“I forgive you,” Brian says, knowing it’s what Freddie needs to hear. He pulls Freddie back as best he can to get a good look at him. Freddie blinks away the last tears and looks back at him, finally summoning a small smile. Brian smiles back at him, then gives him another quick kiss. “Go and change places with Deaky, okay?”

Freddie nods and slides off Brian’s lap. He winces as he pulls his trousers back up and casts the brush a baleful look as he slinks back over to Roger’s side. Brian notices the look and fights the urge to smile.

“I know you’ll want me to say this at the end anyway,” Deaky says as he approaches, “but I just want you to know that I spend most of last night feeling really, really bad about the peanuts and the encore, and I’m already very sorry.”

Brian has to laugh at that. “Appreciated,” he says dryly. “What about the pencil in my hair?”

“That too,” Deaky says quickly.

“Well, you’re very nearly forgiven. Trousers down and over my lap.”

John does as he’s told. Brian looks up to make sure Roger and Freddie are watching. They are. They both look tired out to say it’s barely lunch-time. They’re leaning on each other just a bit, seeking the other’s support.

Brian turns his attention back to Deaky. He spanks him just like he spanked them – not lingering, not dragging it out. He keeps a hand steady on John’s back, hoping it settles him; he remembers how upset Deaky had been after the last time he got punished with the brush and he’s keen to avoid a repeat.

He doesn’t repeat the message about ganging up, knowing John will have heard it twice already having watched the other two and not wanting to set Freddie off again. Instead he pauses after the fourteenth strike and says, “This is for the peanuts,” before he spanks him for the final time.

John gives a little huff of laughter that turns into more of a yelp. “Sorry,” he says again, meekly.

“You’re forgiven.” Brian pulls him up when he’s ready and gives him his moment to calm himself. He scans his face, wanting to be sure that he’s not working himself into worry like he was the last time this happened. Deaky meets his gaze, watery-eyed but calm, and Brian relaxes as he pulls him in for a quick hug.

When John is ready, Brian helps him up off his lap. Whilst he joins Roger and Freddie, Brian stands up and stretches.

“Well, I don’t know about you two, but I’m exhausted already,” he says casually. He can’t help but laugh at the expression on their faces. “Let’s get on with the day properly, shall we? We can do the guitar section of that song so you can relax a bit.”

“Thank god you didn’t say the drum section,” Roger says, eyeing his drum kit with some trepidation.

Brian just smiles. He heads over to pick up the Red Special. The other three begin to chat quietly in the background and Brian lets it wash over him, relieved that the biting tension has gone from the room – and that he doesn’t have to expect any peanuts to land in his hair.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Tear It Up (the rule book that is)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17911682) by [Nina78Leigh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nina78Leigh/pseuds/Nina78Leigh)




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